


with rome below us

by brookethenerd



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23915416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookethenerd/pseuds/brookethenerd
Summary: The reader goes back to 1983 to stop the Mind Flayer before it destroys the town, but Steve and the others forget about them(aka time travel, a fix it, canon divergence, and plenty of angst)*takes place around s1 and s2*
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Reader, Steve Harrington/You
Comments: 23
Kudos: 114





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> whats that? another funky au??? absolutely!! who would i be if i wasnt always working on weird AUs

Most of Hawkins does not survive the Mind Flayer. Only after the dust settled on Starcourt Mall was the full extent of his infection understood, when half the town lay dead.

In 1986, half the surviving business leave the town for good. By 1987, only a third of the original population still resides. Hawkins, Indiana, is a ghost town, and no one is coming to save it. It is dying, slowly, sinking beneath the surface and winking out of memory.

Soon, it might be gone altogether.

That’s why, when the option presents itself, when the choice is proposed and the possibility is laid out, you have no choice but to accept the offer. You’re not sure who exactly it comes from, if it’s some supernatural being or if it’s someone with abilities far beyond El’s or if it’s some God, but you can’t afford to question the opportunity.

A one way trip back to 1983, to the first shot in the battle that has raged for years. A chance to rewrite the past and change the future. A shot at redemption for Hawkins. A shot at life for its residents.

A way to fix everyone’s mistakes and craft a better world. How could you not take it?

* * *

“I don’t have a lot of time to explain,” you said, cupping Steve Harrington’s face in your hands, struggling to see him past the tears pricking at the backs of your eyes. “None of this is going to make sense, and I don’t have long enough to make it.” You pressed your lips together. “You won’t remember, anyway, but-”

Steve’s hand slid up your arms to your shoulders and his brows furrowed deeply.

“I don’t understand-”

“Please.” You caressed his cheeks with your thumbs, pulling him closer. “If someone gave you the chance to go back to the beginning of all this, to stop all the death and loss before it happened, would you take it?”

“Y/N, you’re not making sense-”

“Just answer the question.”

Steve pressed his lips together, shrugging, his lack of understanding only frustrating him.

You felt as if you could hear the clock ticking down in your head, the seconds unraveling in your hands. None of this mattered, and this moment would unravel with time, but you vowed to hold onto it, to use it as fuel; to remember what it felt like to stand in the flames.

You could fix this.

“Yes, sure, if I could, yeah-”

“I need you to know something, Steve,” you said. Your hands fell to his chest, fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt and gripping it tightly. “I don’t regret any of this. I don’t regret meeting you, and I sure as hell don’t regret loving you. If you can, remember that. Try to remember that.”

“Y/N, please, tell me what’s going on-”

The edges of your visions blurred, lights dancing in and out, Steve’s form like static in front of you. It was like standing still in a world suddenly going two thousand miles an hour. Like being ripped apart and sewn back together and tossed around in violent waves before being shot out onto a beach.

It was not a beach you were shot out onto, though. It was somewhere else. Not another place, but another time.

* * *

_November 7, 1983 - Day 1_

_Dear Steve,_

_I still don’t know what to refer to you as. From where I’m standing, you don’t exist, but you feel like a memory. Like I left you somewhere, like I jumped forward. Like you’re still there waiting for me, if I could make it back._

_Technically, you’re future Steve, but technically, traveling back in time isn’t possible. Technicalities have long their meaning._

_Not that it matters. You’ll never read this, because as of 8:43 AM on November 7th of 1983, the Steve I know - you - is gone. Erased, unwound, never a thing in the first place, however you want to describe it. You’re gone. The you that loved me is gone. The way you loved me is gone._

_I took a one way trip because it gave me a chance to fix things. You of all people can understand that. There’s been so much death. So much loss. We’ve been choking on it for years._

_I won’t let it kill us._

_Unfortunately, on November 7th of 1983, I don’t know any of you yet. The game is just beginning. The Mind Flayer is rifling through his tricks, and in two and a half years, he’ll find the one that sends the house of cards toppling._

_You, future Steve, or the Steve from Then, or whoever you are, are - were - the one person I could talk to that always made me feel better. If I don’t talk to you, I think I might lose my mind here. And since I can’t talk to this you, I’ll talk to the one I know. This one. You’re my diary, Steve. You’d laugh if I told you._

_You’re not my mission, Steve Harrington. Maybe when this is all over, I’ll tell the real you - the new one? - the story._

_For now, though, since I don’t have you, I need an ally._

_Jim Hopper is a stubborn, paranoid man, but I’ve known him long enough to know how to get through to him. Or, I knew the old him. Past him? Future him? Who knows. Cross your fingers I don’t fuck it all up with a slip of the tongue._

* * *

Finding Hopper isn’t as easy as you’d hoped it would be. Unfortunately, you’re a junior in high school again, and the concept of _not_ going to school is shot down by your parents before you even get the sentence out.

It’s a setback, but school let’s out at 4, and technically, you already graduated, so it can’t be all that difficult to slug through a day of classes before tracking down Hopper. You know where he’ll be, after all; you know the paths everyone is taking, because they’ve all walked them before.

Driving through town, a bustling and lively place, is unsettling after what you’ve seen. The Hawkins you left behind was half dead. You can’t even remember a time it was like this.

The sight only reminds you of your goal, of the reason you left behind everyone you love and erased them from existence. There’s no way of knowing who they’ll be after this. And once you start making changes, you’ll know less and less about the path they’re taking: the butterfly effect.

You feel like Atlas, balancing the world on your shoulders. No one can see it, and passerby can only wonder why you’re so dim in such a bright world.

Despite the oddities, the school itself is almost a comfort. It’s just a few classes. No saving the world, just solving math problems and listening to some professor drone on about Shakespeare. Seven hours of pretending.

It takes an hour to fall back into the role you held in 1983, to remember what drama was going on in friend groups and who wasn’t talking to who, or what projects and tests people were stressing about.

The bubble holds until lunch. You exit your English class and head for your locker, stopping halfway down the hall.

You knew Steve Harrington existed here, but it wasn’t until a few days later that you really took notice of him. Before, he was just another wannabe cool-guy jock.

Then he wasn’t. Then, he became everything.

A seventeen year old Steve Harrington wraps his arms around Nancy Wheeler, spinning her and pressing his lips to hers, quieting her delighted squeal. She swats him away, but her protest is half-hearted, and she doesn’t even try to hide her smile. Barbara stands beside her - still _alive_ \- and looks on with quiet disapproval; you can’t blame her for it, as you shared a similar opinion of him at the time.

Now, though, seeing him look at Nancy like that, hold her and kiss her, is like jamming a flaming hot rod right through your ribs. You lose your breath, moving to the side and leaning against a locker, a hand coming up to your chest.

_Steve Harrington is not the mission._ You chant the words like a mantra, but it doesn’t make the pain in your chest any lesser, doesn’t make the nausea rolling through you any less overwhelming.

Your Steve doesn’t exist anymore. This is not him; this Steve is still virtually a stranger.

You turn and head down the hallway without another thought, only objective getting away from all these people before the tears pricking at the backs of your eyes fall. Your feet lead you on autopilot, and you push through one of the side doors.

The back lot is quiet this time of day, and you head to the small bench against the brick wall, dropping onto the metal.

In the future, this is the spot Robin waited to get picked up by you or Steve. You’d pull into the parking lot and find her plopped on the bench with a walkman on, bobbing her head to the music and smiling when she saw you.

The bench is empty, today, and there will be no trips to get ice cream or snacks with Steve and Robin, not anymore.

The loss bubbles up in your chest and threatens to choke you. Tears pick at the backs of your eyes and your throat constricts, and the pain in your chest is so powerful you think you might pass out.

You can’t help but wonder if you made a mistake. If you coming back here will only fuck up the timeline and kill Hawkins even faster. If being here will make things worse than they already are.

It doesn’t matter, really, because there’s no going back. You took a one way flight, and no begging or crying or screaming will land you back where you came from. This is the world, now, again, and if you’re not careful, it’ll end just as it did the first time around.

You wish Steve were here. You wish he was here to wrap his arms around you and tell you that it’ll be okay; you wouldn’t have believed it, but you’d give anything to hear it. You’d give anything to have him look at you the way he used to one more time.

Tears slip down your cheeks, falling onto the metal bench with little _ping_ sounds. You wrap your arms around your torso and lean forward, trying to hold your breaking heart inside your chest.

You didn’t realize how hard this would be. How impossible it would feel. 

A door off to your left pops open and Robin Buckley steps onto the concrete sidewalk, holding a lunchbox in her arms. She lifts her head, catching sight of you halfway to the bench, and she stops, her brows furrowing.

You swipe your tears away, clearing your throat and pushing to your feet.

“Sorry,” you say. “Didn’t realize this bench had someone else’s name on it.” It’s a lie, because you did, but it’s not like you can tell her that. She’d run away screaming if you told her the truth; she’d think you were nuts. Maybe you are; you feel a little nuts, right now.

“It’s a free bench,” she says. “You don’t have to go.”

Robin continues forward and siting down on the bench. She pats it with a hand, and you hesitate, dropping back down beside her. You wipe your eyes again, leaning back against the metal bench.

“You wanna talk about it?” She asks. “I’m Robin.” She gestures to the bench. “I’ve done my fair share of crying on this bench, too, so…”

You can’t help but smile, affection for your old best friend unfurling in your chest. Even now, when she doesn’t know you, she’s still kind.

“You might regret that. I’m a walking cliche.”

Robin snorts.

“How so?”

You fold your arms across your chest, inclining your head and letting out a breath. Your attempts to hold the tears back fail, and they rake rivers down your cheeks.

“I fell in love with a boy, and he has no idea I exist,” you say, a sad smile tugging on your lips.

Robin lets out a humorless laugh, flashing you a supportive smile.

“That’s the story of my life,” she says. She looks like she wants to say more, but she decides against it.

A sophomore Robin Buckley is still deep in the closet, still in love with a girl who is in love with another boy. She’s at the beginning of her journey. The Robin from the future, though, is unapologetically herself, is confident, is happy and loved. The Robin from the future has a girlfriend who she loves, who loves her back.

“It sucks,” you say. She nods slowly, lips pulled thin. She shifts to meet your gaze, cocking a brow.

“Have you thought about telling him?”

You shake your head.

“If only it was that simple.”

“Make it that simple,” she says. “What’s stopping you?”

An image of Steve and Nancy flashes behind your eyes and you close them, squeezing the image away. There are a million things standing in your way, but the most important is your mission.

Steve is not the mission, as much as you wish he was. But right now, Steve is not yet intertwined enough to justify bringing him into the fold. In a few days, he’ll jump into the water with you, and by next year, he’ll be intimately familiar with the Upside Down, but the Steve standing in the school hallway is still untouched. He has another night of peace, and as much as you’d love to burst that bubble and go to him, he isn’t the Steve you knew, isn’t the Steve who loved you.

“His girlfriend,” you say. Robin crinkles her nose, huffing.

“Ah. One of those.”

“Yeah, one of those.”

Robin lets out a long sigh and slumps down on the bench.

“Maybe they’ll break up,” she says.

“Fingers crossed.”

She flashes you a sympathetic smile, and says, “I’m sorry. I know it feels to…to love people who have no idea you exist.”

You may not have Steve, may not have any of your old - future? - friends, but maybe, just maybe, you can drag a few aspects back. Maybe, instead of waiting to meet her at Scoops Ahoy, your friendship with Robin can come quicker, earlier.

Robin Buckley was your best friend. If you can have that again, maybe you can survive this. If you’re not alone, maybe you can survive this.

“Thanks,” you say. “For listening. And letting me crash your bench.”

Robin smiles, shrugging a shoulder.

“Feel free to crash it again. I could use the company.”

The bell buzzes inside the school, signaling the end of lunch, and Robin begins gathering her stuff, tugging her backpack on and pushing to her feet.

“You coming?” She asks.

“In a minute,” you say. She nods, hesitating, shifting her weight.

“I am sorry. About that guy. Maybe he’ll figure out what he’s missing,” she says, and heads for the door, ducking back into the building.

“ _Maybe_ ,” you say, though she’s already gone by the time the words pop out.

You have three more classes to slug through, but the day’s refresher only reminded you what will be waiting for you in your next class. Steve Harrington is like your own personal ghost, haunting you without realizing it. You don’t think you can deal with being plagued today, even it is for an hour in a science class.

This is your life now, for better or worse. Your happiness doesn’t matter, your survival doesn’t really even matter. There are far less people to miss you back here if things go wrong.

Your life, for now, means trying to stop the Mind Flayer. Steve Harrington isn’t a part of that. He can’t be, at least not yet.

Instead of heading back in for class, you spend the rest of the school day on the bench, letting yourself roll through the greatest hits of 1986 and 1987, the world you left behind. It was a broken and dying world, but it was yours. It was yours, and as fucked up as it was, you were loved in it. Here, you’re not sure what you are.

* * *

Flo is even more gullible in 1983 than the time you left, making getting into the precint simple. You just waltz in like you have a reason to be there, and tell her Hopper asked to see you in his office when he gets back. Flo, too concerned with the drying paint on her nails, allows you back without much protest, and you wait in one of the chairs across his desk.

Hopper comes in twenty minutes later, hanging his hat and dropping down into his chair, leveling you with an accusatory look.

“So,” he says. “Flo says I set up this meeting. What exactly did I set it up for?”

You crinkle your nose, an apologetic smile flickering on your lips.

“Sorry. I needed to talk to you.”

“About?”

You hesitate. You have a plan going into this, albeit small and underdeveloped, and you need to stick to it. You’d love to spill your guts right here, but Jim Hopper is the last person who would believe you right now. Unfortunately, he’s the person whose help you need the most.

“I need your help,” you say. “But I can’t tell you with what until I’m sure you’ll believe me.”

Hopper huffs impatiently, pushing to his feet, and you stand, stepping into the closed doorway to block him. He frowns.

“Look, kid, I don’t have time for this-”

“This morning Joyce Byers reported Will Byers missing.” Hopper stills, and triumph flares in your gut. “You’ve been looking, but you can’t find him. And you won’t.”

Something akin to anger flares in his eyes, and you back up a step.

“What the hell do you know about Will Byers?” He snaps. “Are you telling me you’re a part of that?”

“No. No. Not like that,” you say. He doesn’t believe it, and you sigh. “If you need an alibi, I was at the diner studying last night from dinner to closing. You can ask Sally at the diner, or the girls I was with, Angela and Rose.”

Technically, that night was years ago, not last night, and the memory is blurry. You’re grateful to your old self for setting up a perfect alibi, though.

“I need to get back out there,” Hopper says, trying to move past you again. You lunge sideways, blocking his path, and irritation knits itself into his expression. “This isn’t a game, kid.”

“No, it’s not. It’s a war. And if you don’t listen to me, more people are going to die.” Your words leave no room for argument, and something about the intensity of them renders Hopper silent, at least for a moment. It’s long enough to spit the words you need to. “I know it sounds crazy, because it is crazy, but I’m telling the truth.”

“What do you know?” He asks, still frustrated, but resigned.

“I know that Will Byers disappeared in the woods. You found his bike, right?” Hopper hesitates, but nods, and you continue. “He wasn’t taken from the woods. He was taken from his shed.” Hopper’s lips part, but you don’t allow the time for argument or protest. “Tomorrow, you’re going to get a report from Benny’s-”

“That’s enough, kid.” Hopper says, taking you by the shoulders and moving you out of the way. You protest, but he manages to pop the door open and step halfway out. You lunge, grabbing him by the fabric of his shirt, and he turns, murder in his eyes. “I said, _enough_.”

“Listen to me,” you snap. He tugs on your hold, a warning, but you don’t release him. “The kid in the report isn’t Will. Benny-” He shakes his head, and you can see yourself losing him and his attention.

“Hopper,” you say, and he pauses, sighing before meeting your gaze over his shoulder. “The body isn’t what it seems. You need to get closer. And, when you need to, check in the light. Not the lamp, but the light. You’ll know what I mean.”

“Sure, kid,” he says, and slaps his hat on, heading down the hall and toward the front doors. You let out a breath, shoulders sinking. You’ve done all you can, for now. Until the pieces present themselves to Hopper, though, you can do no more.

For now, you just have to wait. You have to pretend you’re a junior in high school again - except, it’s not really pretending anymore - and pretend not to know what comes next. You have to keep your head down and your mouth shut until the time comes to fight.

If you know one thing, it’s that the time will come. And this time, you’ll be damned if you and the others aren’t ready.


	2. part 2

Four days after you talked to Hopper, you exit the school to find his car lingering at the curb. He leans against it with his arms folded, gaze scanning the grounds, eyes snapping to yours. His jaw tightens, and he jerks a chin, gesturing for you, heading around the other side and hopping into the driver’s seat. 

You walk up to the truck and climb into the passenger seat, setting your backpack on the floor between your feet. Hopper doesn’t speak, merely putting the car in park and speeding away. 

From your knowledge of the timeline, with the assumption that you haven’t been here long enough to change anything yet, you can assume that Hopper has seen the body and the gate. He’s been into the lab, he’s seen Benny, he knows that something is going on here. 

Now, if you can just make him believe you. 

“The body was fake, wasn’t it?” You ask. Hopper’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, but he still doesn’t reply. “You find the bug?” He huffs a breath, confirmation in your eyes, and you nod, sitting back against the seat. “Are you taking me to the loony bin, then? Locking me up?”

Hopper flashes a guarded look in your direction, one that makes you think if caged animals, desperate for a way out. You’ve seen that same look in your own eyes in the future; there isn’t a soul without that glaze over their expression. 

“No,” he says, and doesn’t elaborate further. You frown, but don’t protest as Hopper drives through town, taking side streets, finally pulling the car to a stop on the grass just outside the junkyard. He turns off the car and pops off his seatbelt, climbing out, and you take it as a silent invitation to follow, doing the same and joining him at the hood. 

When you stop, Hopper turns to face you, accusation written across his features. 

“Benny Hammond was found dead in his diner. Staged,” Hopper says. “You were right about the body, and the bug.” His eyes narrow, and cold washes over you; you just need to convince him. “Wanna tell me how you know about all that?” 

You pull yourself up onto the hood and fold your arms, cocking a brow. 

“I know because it’s all happened before.” 

Hopper’s brows twitch. You sigh and incline your head. 

“I know how this sounds. Trust me. If I were you, I wouldn’t believe me, either. I know it seems impossible. But the truth is, I’m not from here.”

Hopper snorts and says, “You haven’t left Hawkins a day in your life.”

“And I haven’t.” You shake your head, exasperated. “Look, there’s no good way to say this, and I don’t have time to try and find a better one, so here it is.” You meet his gaze, holding it. “In less than five years, half of Hawkins will be dead. Only a third of the town will even still be here. And I know this because I’ve seen it. Because I was _there_.”

Incredulity flashes in Hopper’s eyes, and he scoffs. 

“So, you’re from the future, then?” He asks, clearly expecting you to shoot down the idea. You press your lips together. 

“1987, to be exact,” you say. Disbelief etches itself into Hopper’s expression, and he turns. You’re losing him, and if he walks away, you won’t get him back. You’ll truly be alone in this. “Barbara Holland didn’t run away. She was taken. Taken by the same creature that took Will Byers.”

“I don’t have time for this, kid-”

“You saw the gate. You know I’m right.”

Hopper shakes his head, and says, “This is ridiculous-”

“You’ve known me my whole life, Hop,” you say. “Have I ever gotten in trouble? Done anything that would make you think I’m screwing with you now?”

Your words render him silent, and for a long moment, he does nothing but stand there with a frown and furrowed brows, tossing over your words. 

“You have to admit that it’s weird. The body, the bug, the lab. You have a million different puzzle pieces, but without my help, you won’t put them together fast enough.” Hopper meets your gaze, something akin to curiosity warring with his disbelief. “I need you. And you need me.” 

“If you’re screwing with me, kid…” Hopper warns. 

Something unfurls inside your chest, something sharp and twisting, five days of pretending smacking into you at once. You miss your world, your time, even in its brokenness. You miss the people you loved and the people that loved you back. 

You miss Steve, and the way he smiled, and his dumb jokes that always made you laugh, and the way he curled against you at night, and the soft way he’d hum when he got distracted. You miss a million little things you only knew because you loved him, things you’re not supposed to know anymore, or yet, or whichever it is. 

“I left everyone behind,” you say, throat thick with unshed tears. “The boy I love has forgotten about me because he hasn’t met me yet. My best friend has no clue who I am. My friends, the people I fought with, you and the others, have no clue who I am.” A tear slips down your cheek, and Hopper turns all the way to face you, jaw clenched. “I’m all alone here. I came because it was the only chance at saving the town, but I can’t do it by myself. I need you. I need you to _believe_ me.” 

Hopper is quiet for a long time before he speaks again. 

“I can’t explain it,” he says, voice gruff, “but for some, godforsaken reason, I actually do.” 

He moves to lean against the hood of the car, folding his arms across his chest. 

“So, tell me,” he says. He flicks a glance at you. “Tell me about the future and how to change it.” 

* * *

It’s a long-winded story, one that is incredibly hard to believe, even when you’ve seen it yourself. To his credit, though, Hopper takes it in stride, listening intently and asking questions for clarification as if he genuinely believes what you have to say. 

Two minds are better than one, and so on, and so on. The reason things took so long the first time around was the lack of communication and the chaotic unfolding of the events. This time, though, you can speed up the clock and put the pieces together faster. 

Hopper heads off to fill in Joyce on what’s happening, and your mission for the night is to follow Nancy and Jonathan. With only two gates in Hawkins and one guarded by the laboratory guards, the only other option is the woods. 

You weren’t there for it, didn’t come into the story until a day later, but you know from Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve what happened. Nancy and Jonathan went hunting, found a gate in the woods, and Nancy fell through. She almost died inside. 

Your objective: for lack of a better word, stalk Nancy and Jonathan through the dark woods and locate the gate for yourself. Tomorrow, you, Joyce, and Hopper will go in and find Will, and, if you’re lucky, Barbara. No one knows her timeline, when exactly she died, and you hope desperately you’re not already too late. 

Will Byers is your mission, not Barbara. The gate is your mission. If you can find it, you and Hopper can bring Will home. El is hidden away at the Wheelers, and with Hopper’s assurance that he’ll keep an eye on the kids until you find the gate, you’re feeling more confident than you have in days. El can close it, and maybe, this story can end in its first act. 

Maybe this wasn’t a suicide mission, after all. Maybe it wasn’t pointless. Maybe the world, Hawkins, can be saved, or at the very least, healed. You’d take a crippled town over a dead one any day, and it’s the dead one that is waiting for you if you fail.

* * *

Navigating through the dark woods after Jonathan and Nancy is easily done, years of traipsing around the town as a child playing making it simple to avoid jutting roots and sharp rocks. You don’t risk a flashlight, using Nancy and Jonathan’s swiping light streams and their quiet chatter to keep track of them. You move slowly through the forest, a pistol tucked to your side - given by Hopper, reluctantly, despite your assurance that the you from the future is well accustomed to weaponry. 

Nancy’s scream echoes through the trees and makes the leaves tremble as if in sympathy of her plight, followed by Jonathan’s frantic calls. It takes everything in you not to bolt after them, to help, but you’ve come to the agreement with yourself not to make any unnecessary changes right now, for fear of messing up the immediate future and obliterating any advantage you came here with. 

Jonathan will help her out. You know he will; he has before. Your duty is the gate, not them. As much as it feels like a betrayal to just stand there behind a tree, lurking in the darkness, getting involved only complicates things, and you don’t have the time for it. It took five days to bring Hopper on board, and while he is more stubborn than most, you can’t afford any more delay. Not with Will stuck in the Upside Down and Brenner and his team right on El and the others’ tails. 

For today, tonight, El and the kids are safe. But tomorrow is a new day. 

Within minutes Jonathan is pulling Nancy out of the hole in the tree, and they’re stumbling away, too haggard and panic-stricken to notice you approaching the tree as soon as they depart. 

You step toward it slowly, hesitant, as if the goop itself with stretch out pincers to bite you. Scanning the trees around you, you see a tiny light off to the right, a backyard a few hundred yards through the trees. If you’re right, it’s Steve’s house, and this is the hole Barbara was dragged through. 

If you’re right, she and Will might be right through that hole. 

Hopper was explicit in his instructions: find the gate and don’t touch it. Report back. 

But Jim Hopper didn’t watch his town die a slow death. Jim Hopper didn’t lose half the people he’d ever known. He knows loss, yes, but he doesn’t know what you do. He doesn’t know what is at stake; he can’t. 

To walk away, with the gate right here…the ghosts from the future clinging to your back won’t allow it, nor will your conscience. 

Taking a breath, you pull out your pistol and rest a finger on the side of the trigger, crossing the dirt to the base of the tree. You kneel down, steeling yourself, and duck through it. 

The goo is sticky like mucus and molasses, and it smells of decay and death, the stench so thick you have to swallow bile, but after two seconds of struggling, you break through to a dark, dusty forest. 

The Upside Down. 

“Hey there, you old bastard,” you say softly, looking around at the shaded, poisonous world. “Remember me?” 

The ground seems to hum in affirmation, though it could be in your head. You push forward, silent and slow, scanning the foggy tree for some sign of Barb or Will, or a marker to indicate where you are. If you can find Steve’s house or Castle Byers, you’ll find them. 

A roar thunders through the trees behind you, close, but not close enough to panic. If this was the you of 1983, you’d have been pissing yourself. 1987 you, though, is hardened. It takes more than a Demogorgon to scare you after the Mind Flayer. 

You continue on, gaze catching on a fallen tree and a silhouette leaning against it. Too big to be Will; Barbara. You lunge, stomach in your throat, dropping to your knees in front of her, only to nearly lose your stomach at the sight of her decaying, blank-stared expression. 

_Gone_. Again. And you’re too late. 

“Damn it!” You curse, pushing to your feet and tearing your eyes away from Barbara’s unseeing ones. 

You’d known this was a shot in the dark, that Barb was probably dead the moment she came through the gate, but that doesn’t make it any easier to see. It doesn’t make it feel any less like failing. 

The roar sounds again, closer, and you curse, throwing Barbara one last look before turning toward the noise. 

Your next move is, admittedly, not one of your finest. In fact, it’s actually the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. But you’re angry, and you’re riding a wave of loss and death that spans back and forwards years, and all you can see is red, and all you can think is, “No more,” and any rational thought flies out the window. 

You take off toward the roar with your gun raised, and the floor shakes as the Demogorgon runs toward you. When it breaks through the trees, you slam to a halt, swallowing the fear clawing its way up your throat and aiming the guns straight at its mouth. 

It spreads its jaws, a monstrous Venus flytrap from hell, and you fire, reload, fire, reload, fire, reload, until your chamber clicks empty. The Demogorgon staggers back, mouth shutting, and for a second, a beautiful second, you think you’ve won. 

Then it straightens again, wounded but angrier than ever, and your stomach drops like a stone. All that’s left to do is run like hell. 

You don’t risk looking back, too busy trying not to trip over protrusions on the ground and scanning the trees for the one you came through. The Demogorgon’s thundering steps and angry growls grow closer by the second, catching up with each breath you gasp for. 

You don’t hesitate when you reach it, ducking and throwing your body straight into the gooey sheen, thrashing and pushing yourself forward. Just as your head breaks through and clean air fills your lungs, knives slash through your calf, tearing cloth and skin. Fire licks up your leg, and you choke out a scream as you pull yourself out onto the forest floor, back in your world. 

Your leg screams in protest as you push to your feet, half-running, and half-stumbling through the woods, your only destination _away_. Pain and nausea roll around inside you, and bile burns its way up your throat, but you don’t stop, don’t slow down, don’t even look back. 

You break through the treeline into the grassy expanse between a few houses and nearly cry with relief, stumbling through the grass and onto the sidewalk, so grateful to see streetlights and homes and life that it’s almost overwhelming. 

The houses are somewhat familiar, and you recognize a few cars from around town. You step onto the asphalt street, heading for the street sign at the end of the block, but bright headlights blind you, and you slam to a halt, throwing a hand up to cover your eyes. 

Even through the lights, you recognize the car and the driver behind the wheel. 

Of all the cars on all the streets of Hawkins, why _wouldn’t_ it be your…whatever he is. Ex-boyfriend that you aren’t friends with yet? Future ex-boyfriend even though, technically, that version of him was erased with your time jump? If you think about it too long, it makes your brain tired. 

Steve Harrington shuts off his engine and climbs out of the car, his brows pulling thin and his jaw dropping. His gaze drops to your leg, and you follow the line of sight; your leg is badly cut, and currently dripping blood onto the asphalt. Lovely. Just lovely. 

“Jesus,” he says, raking a hand through his hair and coming closer, gaze flicking between your deer-in-headlights expression and injured leg. “What the hell happened to you? Are you okay?” He looks around, as if the thing that hurt you is just patiently hanging out behind you. “What happened?”

Your stomach churns, and you avert your gaze, looking anywhere but his eyes; eyes you remember, eyes that used to look at you differently. 

“It’s nothing,” you say, desperate to get away from him. You don’t trust yourself not to spill your secrets the moment he asks a question. “Dog bite. I’m fine.”

He leans down, inspecting your leg, and you shift back, clearing your throat. He stands, shaking his head, features twisted in concern. 

“Bullshit. You’re literally dripping onto the road.” He jerks a chin at his car, and your lips part, a protest buildings. “My house is across the street. My mom has this fancy first aid kit, and there’s no way you’re walking home on that leg.” 

“Seriously, it’s not-” 

“Y/N, I swear to god, if you don’t get in the car-”

Your heart skips a beat, and your gaze snaps to his. 

“You know my name?”

He frowns, inclining his head, cocking a brow. 

“Uh, yeah. Don’t you remember?” He asks. 

You can’t do this, you can’t do this. 

“Summer camp when we were kids. We were the only kids from Hawkins. You hit me in the face with a water balloon so hard it cut me,” he says, lips curling up in a lopsided grin. Relief washes through you, and you force a smile onto your lips, nodding. 

“Right.” 

He gestures to the car again, and his expression turns sympathetic. 

“Please,” he says. “At least let me clean it out.” He turns up his nose, that same, familiar lopsided grin on his lips. “Can’t have you getting rabies.”

“If it gave me rabies, you dumping some alcohol in it won’t change that, Harrington.” 

His brows twitch, and he shrugs. 

“Just get in the car.”

You let out a breath and nod. “Fine.” 

* * *

Scratch that prior statement: agreeing to this is your stupidest choice. 

It’s like drowning in water no one else can see to sit here, in his kitchen, to let him flutter about locating the first aid kit. 

This is not your Steve. This Steve is falling in love with Nancy Byers, and he’s still that boy that made his own bad decisions and learned from them. This Steve saw Nancy and Jonathan in her bedroom tonight and was broken about it. 

He’s silent as he moves about, but you’re perfectly content to not talk. Not talking is your safest bet here. 

If you did open your mouth, you’d either yell at him for forgetting - which he didn’t do, and you know it, even if it feels differently - or cry. 

He disinfects your leg in silence, and you’re grateful to see that the cuts aren’t as bad as they looked, and only need a good cleaning and some bandages. Steve wraps your calf in gauze and heads over to the sink to wash the blood off his hands. He turns around, leaning back against the counter and gripping it. 

“Thank you,” you say. He nods, flashing a tiny smile, but it’s clear his mind is elsewhere. You wish you didn’t know where. “Is everything okay?” 

The wall slams down in his eyes, and he looks away, nodding on instinct. 

“I know it’s not my place,” you say tentatively, “but you did just wash my blood off your hands. I owe you. If you want to…talk… I’ll listen.” You shrug. “Who am I gonna tell?”

He presses his lips together. 

“It’s nothing,” he says. “I just…saw something.” Anger flashes in his eyes, followed by sadness and confusion, all of which make your heart wrench. 

The unfortunate, painful truth about loving people: you just want them to be happy. Even if it isn’t with you, even if you’re far, far away. At the end of the day, that’s all you want. 

You know what comes later, but right now, this Steve loves Nancy, and this Nancy cares for Steve. You’ve no right to wreck that, especially not if it’ll hurt him. 

“Does it have something to do with Nancy Wheeler?” You ask. His gaze snaps to yours, jaw tightening. You flash him an apologetic smile. “People talk. I heard you two were together.” 

He nods, dropping his chin and letting out a sigh. 

“I don’t even really know what I saw, but if it’s what I think…” He shakes his head, hands curling into fists at his sides. “God, I don’t know.”

You purse your lips, hesitating before speaking. 

“I don’t know what happened. But,” you say, “neither do you. And we’ve both known Nancy Wheeler since we were kids. Is she the kind of person who would do something like what you saw, whatever it was?”

His brows furrow. 

“No,” he says. “She’s not.” 

Tears well in your eyes, and you clear your throat, forcing them back and forcing a tiny smile onto your lips. 

“You don’t have to take my advice. I don’t even take it most of the time. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that…” You swallow the tears clogging your throat. “That sometimes, it works out. That sometimes, we expect things to go bad so much that they do.” 

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” Steve says, expression gentle. You press your lips together, nodding, and swipe the moisture from beneath your eyes. 

“Something like that,” you say. “I had a…a really good thing. And I don’t anymore. It’s too late for us, now, but it’s not for you and Nancy. Just…talk to her. Don’t do something you can’t take back.” 

You push off the chair and test your leg, relieved to be able to put weight on it. It hurts and will for a little while, but you’re accustomed to pain. Hell, you just told the boy you love to work things out with his girlfriend. 

“Thanks, Doc, but I gotta get home,” you say, heading for the back door without another word. Steve follows, but by the time he finds his words, you’re halfway down the street. You don’t look back when he calls, refusing to let him see the tears streaming down your cheeks. 

Steve Harrington is not your mission. You love him, and once upon a time, he loved you back, but that world was erased when you left it. 

That world is gone. All there is, is now. 


	3. part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow each part is rlly LONG sorry about that Im just having way too much fun tweaking s1 and setting up the second half of this au lmao. After part 4, there will be a lil time jump to s2, so its looking to be around 8/9 parts right now!

_November 12, 1983 - Day 7_

_Dear Steve,_

_The first time we met, the first time around, was at Joyce Byers’ house. We were acquaintances, had classes together, and a handful of group projects to familiarize us with each other, but when you pulled into the driveway to find Nancy and Jonathan, and I heard the commotion from the street, we jumped into a new world._

_You were still with Nancy, and I was still convinced you were nothing more than a douchebag. Then you picked up that bat and swung, and all that fear you came in bouncing with dissipated. It was the four of us against a monster the likes of which the world had never seen._

_I’m scared if I don’t tell our story, if I don’t write out the way it went the first time around, it’ll disappear. The me and the you from that time are already gone, but the memories are still here. I can’t let them disappear, too._

_We were friends. Odd, out of place, but friends. And when Nancy Wheeler broke your heart at Tina’s Halloween party, it was me that helped you home, me that reassured you it would all be okay. At the time, I didn’t know if it would, but I believed it, and because I did, you did, too._

_You told me once that you could never regret what happened in Hawkins because if it hadn’t gone the way it did, you and I wouldn’t have become who we did. What we did._

_I regret a lot of things, Steve Harrington, but meeting you has never been one of them. Even now, it isn’t._

_It’s remembering you, remembering the way you looked at me and loved me, that makes this whole thing bearable. Without it, I don’t know where I’d be._

_You asked about us, though you didn’t know it. One day, maybe I’ll get to tell you the whole story. It’s a good one if I do say so myself. Though, I guess I’m a little biased._

_I can’t tell you now, because right now, you’re happy. If I tell you, I ruin things. And I won’t do that to you._

_P.S. I miss when your hair was longer. You should start letting it grow out sooner._

* * *

Your first experience with an affected timeline comes at school. It’s a small thing, technically irrelevant in regards to your mission, but a change nonetheless. 

A friendship born out of the conversation on the bench has formed between you and Robin, and it’s one of the few things that’s keeping you sane. You’re standing by her locker after lunch watching her dig for one of her textbooks when the chatter starts to buzz through the halls, quiet and quick as it moves and infects. 

The words come before the person they’re directed at: Steve Harrington and Tommy H got in a fight. Or, more technically, Tommy H beat the shit out of Steve Harrington. It’s rumored to be about Nancy, or maybe about Carole, with no consensus agreed upon by the students, the only agreement they can come to that King Steve has been dethroned. 

Steve strolls down the hall, backpack hanging off one shoulder, with his gaze locked straight ahead of him, jaw clenched. He has a nasty cut above his brow, and his nose is broken, accompanied by a black eye forming. 

The first time around, Tommy and Steve and the others graffiti’d the town and slut-shamed Nancy Wheeler. This time, from what you can gather, Tommy and Carole and their lackeys went around spray painting, and Steve tried to stop them. When he did, he ended up bloody and bruised. 

The first time around, it takes more to push Steve into goodness. This time, though, he seems to be finding his way a lot quicker. 

Steve walks past you and Robin without a glance, and though you have no right to be offended, you can’t help the coiling in your gut. Steve Harrington isn’t anything to you yet. 

“Damn,” Robin muses as he passes by, shaking her head. “That’s gotta sting.”

Your gaze stays locked on the back of Steve’s head, memories flashing behind your eyelids like film credits. Nights driving with the windows down in Steve’s beat-up car, lunches with Robin and Steve, and too much food, moments of laughter and light found in a dying world. 

That world no longer exists. All that’s left is you, a ghost out of place. 

“I guess his reign is over,” Robin says. “Does that mean Tommy’s gonna be terrorizing people? That kid is dumber than a sack of potatoes.” She shakes her head, tugging out her textbook, and slamming the locker shut. Her brows furrow, following your line of sight to Steve ducking into a classroom down the hall. 

“Wait,” she says. “Don’t tell me _he’s_ the boy that…” She trails off, lips pulling into a thin line. Your brows twitch, and you let out a sigh, nodding. 

“Unfortunately.”

“Damn,” she says again. 

“If you’re going to give me shit, feel free to skip it. I’m well aware of how pointless it is.”

Robin’s expression softens, and she shrugs, shaking her head. 

“Lucky for you, I’m well accustomed to pointless romantic escapades.”

_I know_ , you think. _I know more than you can imagine._

You shrug, tugging on your backpack straps, forcing yourself to turn away from the door Steve ducked through; it’s hard to break the habit of waiting for him. After years at his side, it’s like walking around with two left shoes to operate without him; to act like he’s a stranger. 

“How long have you…you know…” Robin says. You crinkle your nose. Technically? Seven days. 

“Four years,” you say. Four years, all erased, up in smoke, never to be found again. _Gone_. 

“Jesus,” Robin says, shaking her head. “You’re in deep.” 

“What about you?” You ask, eager to move the conversation away from you and Steve. “Don’t tell me there’s nobody you’re into.”

Her face pales, and she averts her gaze. If you didn’t know the truth, it would seem like a shutdown, but you know it comes from fear, from shame, from Robin’s own doubts. 

The thing Robin doesn’t know, though, is that in 1987, she no longer harbors so much of it. 1987 Robin is confident, is halfway to fully accepting herself. 1987 Robin even has a girlfriend, a girl named Elody that she played soccer with all through high school. Both girls flirted their way around each other for four years, only finally confessing their crushes after graduation. 

Before that point, Robin is lonely, and feels out of place. The Robin you’re staring at feels out of place. Feels broken. Feels bent. 

“No, there’s nobody,” Robin says. 

“No?” You ask. You’ve already changed the timeline, so what is a little bit more? “What about Elody Miller?” 

Robin’s gaze snaps to yours, lips parting, hesitation flickering in her eyes. 

You continue, “You’re telling me you don’t know? That girl undresses you with her eyes every time you walk past.” 

Robin’s mouth gapes like a fish, and she stammers, “But Elody-Elody’s-” She seems to expect more from you, some horror or anger or shame, but when you present nothing but kindness and support, she presses her lips together. “How did you…”

You shrug. 

“It’s pretty obvious. You two make doe eyes at each other constantly. Plus,” you say, “I overheard her in the locker room after gym.” Technically false; technically, Elody and Robin skirt around each other for years flirting. But if you’re changing things, why not give Robin a happy ending sooner?

“Yeah?” Robin asks, still hesitant, watching you and waiting for some spin, waiting for you to react the way others might. 

“I know it’s not…easy, or ideal…” you say, “but she likes you. And if you like her, you shouldn’t wait.” 

She meets your gaze, a tiny, shy, grateful smile playing on her lips. 

“Maybe you should take your own advice,” she says. You force a smile in reply, but can’t push past the twisting, coiling ache in your gut. 

You can fix a million things here, make Robin happy and save Will and help the others, but you’ll never get back the things you left behind. You’ll never end up back there, in that broken world you came to love. This is the world now, no matter how much you wish it weren’t. 

Your world is simple: you love Steve Harrington, and he doesn’t love you back. 

* * *

“So, there’s a telepathic twelve-year-old, just, running around Hawkins?” Joyce Byers asks, leaning into her kitchen table. You sit in a chair across from her, with Hopper leaning against the counter nearby. 

“She’s thirteen,” you say, “and technically, she’s with Mike, but yeah.” 

“And…in the past…or the future…” Joyce says, brows furrowing, “Hop and I went to find this girl’s mother.”

You nod, and say, “You were looking for clues. Trying to find the connection between Terry Ives, the lab, and the girl. Eleven.” You spread out the paperwork and copies found at the library by Hopper, putting together the pieces they couldn’t see themselves and finishing the puzzle. By skipping the trip to Terry Ives, you’re hoping to speed things up, to find Will sooner. 

Specifically, to find him tonight. 

“Eleven opened the gate,” you say, “but she’s also the only person who can close it. The first time, we had to use her to find Will, but this time, I already know where he is.”

“And the kids?”

You smile and say, “I’ll find them for you.” 

* * *

You kneel behind a massive stack of fence material and watch the two men in suits traipse around the junkyard, scanning it for the kids. Your gaze stays locked on the bus they’re hiding in, though they’ve done a decent job of disguising themselves, and you can’t see anything. 

When they venture to close to the bus, you grab a rock and chuck it in the opposite direction, sending the agents running away. They climb back into their cars quickly, labeling the junkyard as a failure before departing, wheels spinning up dirt as they peel away. 

As soon as the dust clears, you cross the dirt lot to the bus, pulling off the metal slats they’ve dragged in front of the door and tugging it open. You climb up the steps and find Mike, Lucas, Dustin, and El curled up on the seats, their eyes wide. Lucas has his pocket rocket loaded, a rock aimed right at your face. 

You hold your hands up in surrender, ready to give an explanation, but before you can do so, Eleven stands up, her brows furrowing and confusion dotting her features. 

“Who the hell are you?” Mike snaps. “What do you want from us?” 

El’s expression smooths, and she inclines her head, curiosity playing on her face. 

“I remember you,” she says. 

* * *

Everyone gathers in the Wheeler’s basement, the unofficial home base you’ve come to know just as well as your own home over the years. Mike, Lucas, Dustin, El, Hopper, Joyce, Jonathan, and Nancy stand around the small kitchen table as you go through what you know. 

“Sorry, I’m going to need a minute,” Nancy says. She meets your gaze. “You’re from the _future_?”

“I get it,” you say, “it’s hard to believe. It sounds ridiculous. I understand. But we don’t really have time for explanations, right now. We need to find Will.”

“Are there flying cars?” Dustin asks. 

“Four years from now?” Lucas retorts. “ _Idiot_.”

“It’s a valid question!”

“It is not a valid question!”

“Well, you would have-”

“Both of you shut up,” you snap. Hopper’s lips turn up in amusement. “Believe me, don’t believe me, I don’t care. But you do need to listen to me if you want Will back safely. Got it?”

The kids clamp their mouths shut, nodding. 

“El….sweetie, you said you… _remember_ Y/N. How?” Joyce asks. El frowns, looking at you like she’s trying to look through you to see something she’s missing. 

“I…I don’t know. Like… _memories_.”

“Memories that haven’t happened yet,” Mike says. “Like…memories of tomorrow?” 

El nods, a tiny smile tugging on her lips. 

“Memories of tomorrow,” she says. She meets your gaze again, brows furrowing. She glances around, looking to you. “Where’s Steve?” 

“Steve?” Nancy asks, attention grabbed, and you swallow the bile clawing its way up to your throat. 

“A little too early for him,” you tell El. “And Robin.”

She nods, understanding, but the others are only more confused. Nancy’s gaze lingers on you, a question in her expression, but you avoid meeting her eyes. If she has questions, you either don’t have the answers or you don’t want to give them. 

“What does Harrington-” Jonathan starts. 

“We don’t have time for this,” you snap. “Now, I can tell you where to go, and how to find Will. Joyce and Hopper, you’ll go in after them.”

“What about us?” Mike asks. 

“You guys try not to get killed.” You look to El. “You’ll keep them safe.” 

Something painful flickers in her eyes, her memories of tomorrow reminding her - warning her - where the last path led her. You’d like to reassure her that this one ends somewhere different, but that’s not a guarantee you can make. 

You can’t make any of them any promises, because the truth is, even after only a week, you have no way of knowing what the consequences of your actions are. There’s no way of knowing the massive results of each tiny decision, each small step. We don’t have the luxury of hindsight, not even you. You may know some things, but you don’t know everything; you can’t know everything. 

* * *

Joyce and Hopper head off in the direction of the woods and the gate, leaving the kids and teenagers at the Wheelers. You flutter about the house, feeling utterly useless, avoiding Nancy’s curious glances and the kids’ never-ending questions. 

A time traveler is undoubtedly fascinating, and you’d love to indulge them, but all you can think about is whether or not you’ve fucked this all up, whether or not it’s worth it, whether or not you’ve only made a bigger mess than the one you left behind. 

After a good thirty minutes of avoiding the others on the back porch, you come back into the basement to find a smaller group than you left behind. Mike, Eleven, Lucas, and Dustin sit around the table, attempting to look innocent, and Nancy and Jonathan are nowhere to be found. 

You don’t need to ask to know where they are; they’ve already gone and done it before. 

“I’m sorry,” Dustin says, “They went to the Byers, but they told us not to-”

“Don’t move,” you snap, grabbing your car keys and heading for the door, stopping to face them. “I swear to god, if you four aren’t here when I get back, I’ll kill you myself.” You flash the pistol tucked into your side for good measure, and head out the door, letting it slam shut behind you. 

Idiots. You told them, warned them, and they still went to fight the Demogorgon. To lure it to them and take it out for good. To try and be heroes. 

You speed through town, slamming the car to a stop the moment your tires hit the Byers driveway. Another car is already in the lot, and a familiar crop of auburn hair flashes in the porch light as Steve Harrington looks over his shoulder, his brows furrowing in confusion when he sees you. 

The front door opens to a crack, and Nancy pokes her head out, eyes narrowing at the sight of Steve. She says something you can’t hear and tries to close the door on him, but you bolt up the drive and onto the porch, pushing past Steve and shoving the door open. The lock splinters, pieces cracking apart, and the door swings open. You push inside, Steve on your heels, and scan the room, trying to gauge how much time you have left. 

“Woah, Woah, _Woah_ ,” Steve exclaims, taking in the place and dissolving into that day-one-Steve-Harrington panic that never ceased to amuse you, including now. “What the _hell_ is going on here? What is _that_ -”

“Shut up,” you, Nancy, and Jonathan say at the same time. Steve’s mouth hangs open, gaping like a fish, but he says nothing, either shocked into silence or actually listening to you. 

The wall is covered in scrawled letters and string lights, and the Christmas lights flicker overhead, throwing pinks and greens and blues into the shadows. Nancy and Jonathan have a decent spread of weaponry, including the token nail-studded bat. 

“Give me your hand,” you snap, crossing the carpet to the pair, holding out a hand. They frown, exchanging looks, and you sigh, catching Nancy’s wrist and tugging it out. She, Jonathan, and Steve protest, but you drop her hand the moment you see what you need to: a tiny cut down her palm. Jonathan’s hand is already bandaged, meaning he cut his hand, too. 

Meaning: you’re too late. The Demogorgon is coming. 

“Damnit,” you snap, raking a hand through your hair and taking in the room. “Okay. If you can shoot a gun, take one. If not, a blade.” You grab the bat from Jonathan and hand it to Steve, an instinctual movement. It’s his weapon, even if he doesn’t know it yet. He takes it, frowning, but tests the weight and swings it, a half-smile tugging on his lips. Your stomach turns, and you force yourself to look away and address the others. 

“First of all,” you say, looking between Nancy and Jonathan, “this was a _stupid_ fucking move, and I want to make sure you both know that.” Their cheeks flush, and they open their mouths to protest, but you interrupt them. “I get it. You’re trying to do the right thing, save people, blah blah blah. I’ve heard it before. I don’t care. All that matters right now is being ready for the thing that’s about to come through the door.”

“What? What the hell does that mean? What’s coming through the door?” Steve asks. You meet his gaze, cocking your brows. 

“A monster. Catch up, or shut up.” It’s cruel, but you don’t owe this Steve any kindnesses, not right now, and you’re too frustrated at your mistakes and the missing time to care about niceties. Luckily, the bluntness is exactly what he needs, and he calms - or, at least, quiets - immediately, falling into the role of soldier that he will play more times than he knows over the next few years if you don’t fix things. 

None of these people deserve to be a soldier. Steve doesn’t deserve this fight. 

“It’s going to be fine,” you say, addressing Steve directly, softer and gentler than your last words. “I can’t explain how I know that right now, but you’ve got to take my word for it right now.” You turn to Nancy and Jonathan, speaking to them all. “You need to direct your shots at the head. When that thing opens its mouth, you shoot straight into it until you’re out, or you keep hitting until you see skull. Understand?” 

“You were telling the truth,” Nancy says, a trace of awe in her words. “You really have fought these things before.” Her brows pull together. “Or…”

“The tenses screw with my head, too,” you say. “ _Before_ works.” 

“Is anyone going to explain what the hell is going on?” Steve exclaims. 

“No,” you say. “Ask again later.” You hope he doesn’t take you up on that. 

The lights flicker overhead, and you tense, pulling the pistol out of your pocket. 

“ _Jesus_ ,” Steve says, lunging back. 

“We’re killing _it_ this time,” you say, ignoring Steve. 

“You mean we _didn’t_ last time?” Jonathan asks. 

“Do you really want to know the answer to that question?” You retort. 

“I’d love to know what the hell’s going on,” Steve says. 

“I very much doubt that,” you say, letting out a humorless laugh. He flicks a confused glance your way, but you’re saved from explaining when a roar thunders outside, and the lights lose their minds, flashing so quickly it’s disorienting. 

The front door flies off its hinges, and the Demogorgon steps through the doorway, its long, sharp claws curling as it takes you in. 

“Holy shit,” Steve says. “ _Holy shit_.”

The Demogorgon’s face spreads open, a thousand sharp teeth poking out of a swollen, pink mouth. The first time you saw the thing, you nearly peed your pants, but this time, you’re familiar with the prick of fear; this time, you know how to use it. 

You raise your gun and fire, Nancy following suit, both of you emptying your chambers into the creature’s face. It roars in anger, staggering back, clawing at its mouth. 

“Run!” You scream, shoving the others down the hall, all jumping over the bear trap to duck into the bedroom. Jonathan and Nancy raise their weapons, and you take Steve’s bat, another instinctual move: when that weapon became like a sacred object to him, the only person permitted to touch it other than him was you. The one time Robin tried, as a joke, she ended up with a snow cone upended on her head. 

“Stay here,” you say, and the others are too shell shocked to argue as you tug open the door and step into the hallway. The Demogorgon, wounded and angered, stands at the other end of the hall, snarling when it hears you. 

“Remember me?” You ask, stalking toward it, gripping the bat tightly. “I killed you once. I think it’s time for round two. Sorry, it’s a little earlier than expected.” 

The creature bellows, saliva and gunk flying out of its mouth, and it steps toward you, careful of the bear trap. It rushes you, just as expected, and you wait until the last moment to swing, catching it straight in the mouth and using its momentum to send it careening into the wall. The nails catch on the rubbery skin, ripping it in half, half the Demogorgon’s head smacking against the wall and splattering it with blood and bone. The rest of the creature slumps to the ground in the middle of the hallway, and you slump with it, letting the bat fall to the floor and leaning against the wall for support. 

Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan step into the hallway, various states of shock on their faces. Jonathan is borderline horrified, Nancy is shocked and impressed, and Steve is moving between all three. 

“How did you…” Steve starts. 

“We need to get back,” you say. “Hopper and Joyce should have Will by now.” 

Jonathan perks up, tossing his weapon aside and heading for the front of the house, scrambling for his car keys. Nancy assists, but Steve hangs back, waiting beside you at the end of the hallway. 

“You really…came back? From…” Steve pauses, nose crinkling, like he’s incapable of even saying it. You understand the sentiment; it makes you feel a little nuts. 

“From 1987,” you say. “Yeah.” 

He frowns, holding your gaze for a long moment, and you shift uncomfortably beneath his focus. 

“What?” You ask.

“You haven’t told everyone the whole story, have you?” 

Your stomach churns, and you fold your arms, averting your gaze. 

“You don’t want to hear the whole story,” you say. “Trust me.” 


	4. part 4

_November 22, 1983 - Day 17_

_Dear Steve,_

_I think I failed. I don’t know. I don’t know anything, anymore. I thought I did; I thought I had the timeline wrapped around my finger. I thought I had the power._

_I’m not so sure, now._

_Will is safe (you know that, but don’t kill my diary entry vibe, here) and was discharged from the hospital. Barb is still dead. And El…El is gone again. Just like she was the first time. She left from a different place - the Wheeler’s backyard - and because of a different reason - agents - but she disappeared just as she did the first time around, in a plume of ash and smoke._

_Hopper will find her again; I’ll be there to help him. I know where she is; I know she’s alive._

_But for now, that’s all I can do. All I can do is wait. Wait for the Upside Down to come back, wait for El to come back, wait to see if I made enough changes to send us in another direction. I didn’t think about the fact that this might not end here; I didn’t think about much before I left, though._

_I told Will to burn anything he throws up before it slides down the drain. I don’t think he really understood, but I hope he does soon. That slug was the first trace of the Mind Flayer in our world, wasn’t it? If I can kill it when it’s born, maybe it won’t grow up to kill half of us. Honestly, I’m grasping at straws here._

_All I can do is try and set up the pieces for the next round, prepare for a fight that may or may not come. I can make sure we’re ready, if the shadows jump from the darkness again._

_I can sit here, and watch, and listen, and most of all, miss you._

_I miss you so much I can barely stand it, Steve Harrington. I miss your dumb jokes and your horribly cooked pigs in a blanket and that faded hoodie you always gave me shit about stealing, but I knew you secretly didn’t mind._

_I didn’t think I was the type of person that would ever have a great love story, and you gave me one. So, thanks for that, even if it’s over, even if it technically never happened at all._

_I really hope you’re happy, Steve, even if it isn’t with me. I hope you get everything you ever wanted. I hope you find what you’ve been looking for._

_Just know, I’ll never stop rooting for you._

* * *

Hopper pulls his truck through the laboratory gate, and drives up to the front of the building, parking the car and hopping out. You follow suit, the cool metal of the pistol that has become a fifth limb brushing against your belly. Though he hated doing it and gave the gift accompanied by threats, Hopper gave you a holder, and now, you practically sleep with the thing.

In 1987, Steve sleeps with his bat next to the bed. You understand the sentiment, now.

“Try not to piss them off, yeah?” Hopper asks. “They’re not your biggest fan.”

It’s the second time you’ve come to the lab with Hopper, and the first, understandably, you were turned away for saying what you did. But this time, they asked for you; they want to know what comes next.

“I’m not a fan of theirs, either,” you grumble, following Hopper up the front door and waiting to be buzzed in. “These bastards kill the town.”

“They _might_ kill the town,” Hopper says.

“You trust in that _might_?”

He huffs, rolling his eyes, and says, “If I did, would we be here?”

“Touche.”

* * *

“You have to understand….the way this sounds…” Dr. Owens says, spreading his hands, a sympathetic expression on his face. You bristle where you sit in the chair across his desk, and behind you, Hopper snorts, pacing behind you like some glorified security guard. Still, you’re thankful for his presence; only Hopper’s credibility got you in the door.

“I don’t care how it sounds,” you say. “It shouldn’t be that hard to believe. You play with God, he’s gonna play back.”

“But Russians? Creatures made of collected bone and organic material? Conspiracy theories?” Owns asks. His goal is clear: take the credibility out of you and everything you’ve said. But you’re not the high school kid you look like, not anymore. You’re from a dying world, a world that these men killed. A judgmental tone is nowhere near enough to sway you.

“You’re the one who opened a hole to a parallel universe. You’re the one who created supernatural children. Children that you _ripped_ from their parents arms,” you say, voice hard, and one side of Dr. Owen’s mouth twitches, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Yeah. I know all of that. I know _everything_. And if you don’t listen to me, you’ll be dead in a year.”

That last part technically isn’t true, but how would he know? The lab operates on lies, so why can’t you?

Hopper finally sits down beside you, folding his arms, a pleased expression playing on his face.

“I’d recommend listening to the kid,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Dr. Owens lets out a sigh, shaking his head.

“What did you have in mind?”

You smile, exchanging a glance with Hopper, and lean forward, cocking a brow.

“You’re going to keep in contact with Hopper, and me. You’re going to tell us if so much as a speck of dust flies around near that gate.” Owens looks reluctant, but you push on. “Because last time, you didn’t say a damn thing to anyone, and it nearly killed Will Byers. Do you want to risk that again?”

Owens lets out a sigh. “How _old_ are you?”

“Old enough to smell your bullshit from a mile away.”

“ _Y/N_ ,” Hopper warns. He turns to address Owens. “You’re going to want to listen to them.”

You smile triumphantly, and Owen’s eyes narrow.

“Understood. If a light so much as flickers, you’ll hear about it.”

Hopper pushes to his feet and you follow suit, but when Dr. Owens holds out a hand to shake, you pointedly ignore it, and Hopper does the same.

“It’s not my problem if we don’t,” you say, another lie, but another necessity, “it’s yours.”

* * *

Nancy finds you in the hallway a few days before the holiday break, approaching you shyly and somewhat reluctantly. She’s sans Steve, to your relief, but there’s a curiosity in her eyes that unsettles you the moment you see it.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey.” She purses her lips. “Thanks for everything you did back there. I didn’t get a chance to tell you, after.”

“I didn’t do everything I wanted.”

Sadness flashes in her eyes, and she says, “Barb wasn’t your fault.”

You give a grateful - but false - smile, and fold your arms across your chest, leaning back into the metal lockers. Nancy clearly has more to say, and you’re too jittery too play along any more.

She shifts uncomfortably.

“El said something…before she disappeared. She asked me a question.”

Your stomach turns, but you shove back the panic slowing up your chest and incline your head.

“A question.”

Nancy swallows. “She asked me if Jonathan and I were together yet.”

All the blood drains from your face and you clear your throat, lips parting, brain scrambling for something to say and coming up empty.

“I…”

“I need you to tell me the truth,” she says. “Steve thought you were hiding something. Is this it?”

“It’s…complicated.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Tell us?”

“I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. I just-I wanted everyone to be…happy for as long as they could. I don’t know, I guess, I thought it wasn’t my right to get involved in everything.”

Nancy is quiet for a long time before she speaks again.

“By _anyone_ you mean _Steve_ , right?” She asks. Before you can protest, she continues. “El asked about him that night, but she didn’t ask me. She asked _you_.”

“She did.”

“Because you and Steve…in the future…” She cocks a brow in question, and you nod, your stomach a pit of stones.

You take a deep breath. You’d resigned yourself not to mess with Nancy and Steve and Jonathan, to let their paths play out on their own. You knew that your involvement was selfish, that it would only lead you astray, so you decided to stay away. You decided to hold back.

“On Halloween of 1984, you broke up with Steve at Tina’s party. It wasn’t because of Jonathan, at least not completely.” A sad smile tugs on your lips. “You always told me that you got lost on your way to him. We used to joke about how you-” Your cheeks flame. “It doesn’t matter. But that’s it. That’s the truth.”

A handful of indecipherable emotions flicker across her face, but she doesnt settle on anger, to your relief.

Nancy Wheeler is not your enemy, not your opponent. In the future, she’s one of your best friends. You hate that your meddling has messed that up.

“I didn’t want to lie. I just…I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Don’t you think we all have a right to know?”

“I thought so. But what does knowing really do?” You ask. “Is knowing making you feel any better?”

She hesitates, and says, “Honestly, it makes everything feel more complicated.”

You let out a humorless laugh.

“Welcome to my world.”

A tiny smile tugs on her lips, and the sight of it releases one of the many weights on your shoulders.

“So…you and I are friends, where you come from?”

You smile, incline your head and nodding.

You grew closer after Starcourt, but you were friends the moment you showed up in 1983 - the first time - the help fight the Demogorgon. When Hawkins fell to the Mind Flayer, you, Jonathan, Nancy, Steve, Robin, and Robin’s girlfriend Elody were attached at the hip. Hopper and Joyce and the kids were your people, but those five were your family.

“We are. Or _were_ ,” you say. Nancy’s smile widens. “You actually gave the best Steve advice. You were just as familiar with that idiot’s shenanigans as I was.”

Her brows twitch, something sad flashing in her gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I know it’s-it’s awkward, and weird, and if you want, we can never talk about it again. I know he’s your boyfriend. I would never do anything-”

“I know,” she says, smile turning sad. “It’s not that.”

You cock a brow in question, and she continues.

“It’s the way you say his name.” She purses her lips, shaking her head and letting out a small chuckle. “You guys were…really in love, weren’t you?”

The crack in your chest splinters and the ache that’s been building behind your ribs spills out, pressing on your lungs and nearly choking you.

You stopped believing in happy endings when Hopper and Joyce came out of the Upside Down with a sick will, when they left a dead Barbara behind. You stopped believing the world was good.

Steve changed that. He gave you hope. He helped you believe in fairy tales again, in happy endings.

Without him, you’d never have taken this chance. You would still be in a dying or dead world.

Because Steve loved you, this world has a second chance. But he doesn’t, anymore, and it’s getting harder and harder to believe in the world he did. It’s getting harder and harder to believe in anything.

“We were,” you say. “But he’s yours, now.”

Nancy’s smile seems false, like it’s a second away from falling, like she barely put any effort into tugging it up. There are still questions in her eyes, but they’re questions for herself, things you can’t answer for her.

* * *

You stand in the precinct kitchen beside Hopper, pulling a box of purchased EGGO’s out of your bag. Hopper cocks a brow, and you pop open the package, pulling out a small stack.

“She likes them crispy,” you say. He rolls his eyes and puts the waffles into the toaster. As they cook, you scrawl a note onto a sticky note, to be attached to the food dropped off in the woods.

It reads: _I remember you, too._

* * *

Robin breaks the news of Steve and Nancy’s breakup the day school ends for winter break. It hits you like a truck; you’d just started to accept that Steve and Nancy were together again, and would be for another year.

You expected changes to the timeline, but you didn’t expect this.

It doesn’t change anything, shouldn’t change anything. He doesn’t remember you, doesn’t know you. He’s just been dumped, so he’s likely just as raw and broken as he would be had things gone the way they did the first time.

You know you should continue to keep your distance, both for your sake, and his his. You’ve already complicated everything enough, and you can’t help but wonder if your words to Nancy were the final word in the coffin.

You have no right to do it, but on Christmas Eve, you drive through the snowy streets to his house. His parents were out of town this Christmas, leaving him home alone. He spent it with Nancy, last time. He’ll be by himself, this time.

The book you brought for him sits unwrapped on your passenger seat. It’s not a gift he’ll likely understand, but it’s been staring at you from its place on your shelf since you first got home, burning a hole in the wood.

Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery. Once upon a time, you gave Steve the book to borrow on a long car ride, and though he’d initially claimed he didn’t like it, he inhaled it in hours, and even made you stop at a random bookstore along the drive to pick up the second in the series.

He never admitted it to anyone but you, but Steve Harrington loved Anne Shirley and her world. On cold, lonely nights, he’d read passages aloud, with your head on his chest and his hand trailing through your hair.

You pull into his driveway, empty save for his red Beemer, and gather your strength before heading up to the door. You knock lightly, and Steve opens within seconds, his brows furrowing at the sight of you.

“Y/N?” He asks. “What are you doing here?”

You press your lips together and hold out the book.

“Merry Christmas, Steve,” you say. He frowns, gaze dropping to the novel, and he takes it, inspecting the cover. His eyes glaze over for a moment, and he seems to jump back to reality, shaking his head.

“Everything okay?” You ask.

He nods, shaking his head.

“Yeah. Just…like, Deja Vu, or something. Kind of.” He shakes his head again, and your stomach twists.

Your mind wars between telling and not telling, between confessing and holding your truth close. Does he deserve to know? And if he does, are you brave enough to tell him?

“Uh, thanks,” he says, shaking off his confusion. “For the book.”

You crinkle your nose.

“I know it seems…you know. But you should try it out.”

You linger for a moment, not trusting yourself to stay any longer, and turn to leave, but Steve says your name softly, and you stop.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks.

Everything inside of you snaps, and his words knock the breath clean out of your lungs.

“I-you-I don’t-” You stop. “How…how long have you known?”

Steve presses his lips together, letting out a huff.

“Does it matter?” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Were you ever planning on telling me?”

“I told you that you didn’t want the whole story,” you say quietly. He snorts.

“Why do you get to choose what parts of the story to tell? You told us about Will, and the Demogorgon. You told us what might happen next year. So,” he asks, “why not this?”

His words cut to the center of it, to the truth you’ve been hiding from yourself.

“I was scared.” You shrug a shoulder, cocking a brow. “Is that what you want to hear? I was _scared_. I came back here, and no one remembered me. You were dating Nancy Wheeler. How was I supposed to just come in and wreck everyone’s lives?”

“Didn’t you do that anyway?” He snaps. You flinch, and regret crosses his face. He closes his eyes for a long moment before meeting your gaze again. “I’m sorry. I know-I know it’s not your fault.”

“No, you’re kind of right,” you say.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” He asks again.

“I…I was,” you say. You’re not sure if that’s true. “I don’t know. I didn’t know how. It’s not like there’s a good way to tell someone that, in the future, you’re madly in love with each other. You had a girlfriend, Steve. You were happy. Things were _good_. I couldn’t…” You stop, shaking your head. “I just couldn’t.”

Steve is quiet for a moment before speaking.

“Things have been _off_ since the day you got here. Or, came back, or whatever,” he says. “So, great work.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

His expression turns sad, a sadness so deep and dark its hard to look at.

“You should have told me,” he says. “I deserved to know.”

“What would it have changed?”

His lips part, but he doesn’t say anything. Maybe there isn’t anything to say. Maybe there hasn’t been since the moment you got back.

Maybe by coming back here, you severed the path you and Steve were supposed to walk on. And if that’s the case, if that’s the consequence for playing God, you really hope you can live with it. Right now, though, it feels like drowning.

You leave without another word, and Steve doesn’t call after you. You climb back into your car, and drive back through town, and continue on a path you can’t see.

For the next year, until the poisoned vines either pop up around Hawkins or don’t, you’re powerless. All you can do now is sit in the remnants of the messes you made and hope that the floor doesn’t fall out from beneath you; at least, any more than it already has.

This is your life now. Now, you can watch, and you can wait. And hopefully, hopefully, you’ll win.


	5. part 5

_June 28, 1984 - Day 235_

_Dear Steve,_

_In June of 1984, the Russian scientists who caught wind of the Upside Down and the machinery that gave Americans access to it completed their first trial with a similarly programmed machine. They failed, but the machine was salvaged, and they used its debris to build the machine that opened the gate a second time. They brought that second machine to Hawkins; Hawkins was the key._

_That second time was what killed us._

_I’ve got my own plans for the second round of the Upside Down’s attack, and if it comes - fingers crossed it doesn’t, but when have we been lucky? - it won’t be until October. There’s still time for that._

_I know this is ridiculous. And stupid. And I could get arrested, or die. But can you blame me for a little contingency plan? For setting up a fail-safe for the Russians, for us in 1985?_

_You know, Steve, big and borderline-suicidal ideas were always your thing. Maybe you rubbed off on me more than I realized._

_Today, as Dr. Alexei realizes that he can’t build his machine in Russian, he will begin to look for somewhere else. He’ll find it, too. But I’m going to make things as difficult as possible._

_You - this you - haven’t spoken to me in months. We’re strangers in the halls, and since summer started, you’ve been a ghost. I guess I have, too. We avoid each other like the plague because you have questions and I have answers and neither of us can bear to bring them to light._

_For a pair who fought monsters, we still are kids in a lot of ways._

_You had my back every time I needed it; we were a team. Which is why I’m asking for your help._

_You’ll probably slam the door in my face. We’ll see, I guess._

_You get mixed up in my head. Half of these letters are addressed to both of you - to the boy I knew and the one I know. The longer I’m here, the more the past or the future or whatever it is starts to feel like a memory, or a dream. Like it never existed._

_Like you never existed._

_Maybe that’s why I’m asking for your help. Not just because you’re strong, because it’s sensible, but because I can’t let that die._

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Steve’s parents cars are missing from the driveway when you pull in. Every summer, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington go off on vacation, spending three months gallivanting around and leaving their son alone. He preferred it that way, but you knew it irked him; you knew he secretly wished for a real family.

Once upon a time, you were his family. Now, you’re akin to a stranger.

He opens the door after the first knock, outfitted in sweats and a faded tee, his eyes narrowing at the sight of you.

“Y/N?” He asks. “What are you doing here?”

“I need your help,” you say.

“My help? With what? Why?”

You press your lips together, crinkling your nose.

“I’m doing something illegal, and I can’t ask Hopper for help.” You let out a breath. “I know you hate me. I get that. But this isn’t about me or you. It’s about the Upside Down.”

“I don’t hate you,” Steve says immediately, and seems to surprise himself with the confession. He averts his gaze, letting out a sigh and raking a hand through his hair before bringing his eyes back to yours. “What exactly do you mean by ‘something illegal?’”

* * *

You spread the small, stolen map across the hood of your car, and Steve moves closer to see. His breath is warm on your neck, and you force yourself not to move, not to breathe, not to do anything until he moves away; you don’t trust yourself around Steve Harrington.

“These properties border the lab,” you say, tapping the small square signifying the laboratory and sliding it around to the various X’s marked on the map. “The Russians used Starcourt as their home base for the machine, but they didn’t build it there. They built it, and powered it, at one of these places.”

“That’s not until 1985, though,” Steve says, brows furrowing. He lifts his gaze to yours and inclines his head. “What are we doing here now?”

Your lips quirk up in a mischievous grin, and you head around to your trunk, popping it open and tugging out the first gallon of gasoline. Steve’s eyes go wide, gaze darting to the vine-crawled barn behind him.

“Tell me we’re not burning down Hess Farm,” he says.

“We’re not just burning down Hess Farm,” you say, setting the gas can beside the map. “We’re also burning down Brimborn Steel Works.”

Steve stares at you for a long time before saying, “This is crazy. You know this is crazy, right?”

“Monsters from another dimension and telepathic kids are crazy,” you say. “This is…”

Steve cocks a brow.

“Fine. It’s a little crazy,” you say. “But if you’d seen what I have, you’d already be dousing the place.”

Something indecipherable flickers in Steve’s eyes, and he purses his lips, leaning into the hood of the car.

“You might as well just say it,” you say. “Whatever it is you’re trying not to.”

His lips part, and he says, “Do you regret it?” The words come out quick and sharp, almost like he never meant to say them at all, and he avoids your eyes once the question is out. “Coming back here, I mean.”

Your stomach twists and you turn, sitting back against the car beside Steve, your gaze on the abandoned farm ahead.

You’ve wrestled with that question since the day you got back. You’ve wondered until you made yourself sick; if it was worth it, if you’d do it again, if it was the right choice.

A sigh slips past your lips, and you say, “I think…maybe I just fucked things up by coming back. Like I made it even worse.”

Steve shifts in your periphery, and you sneak a glance at him, his brows furrowed and lips pursed.

“I asked you, you know. Before I went. I didn’t have a lot of time, but I asked you if you would come back and fix things if you had the chance yourself.”

“What did I say?” Steve asks.

“You said yes,” you say. Tears prick at the backs of your eyes and you clear your throat, pushing off the car and turning to grab the gas tank.

A trip down memory lane is a dead end, and all you’ll find if you follow it is a brick wall. There is nothing for you in your past, in their future. All that matters is now, and in this _now_ , things are different. Things will never be the same.

“If we burn these places down, we might not stop the Russians, but we’ll make it damn well harder for them to hide,” you say. “Hopper might kill us or arrest us if he figures out what we did. Are you still with me?”

Steve hesitates, but pushes off the car and tugs a lighter out of his pocket, flipping it open. He meets your gaze, an earnest smile tugging on his lips.

“I’m with you,” he says.

The barn is long abandoned, thankfully, and you and Steve walk around dousing the house in gasoline without notice. On a summer day, Hawkins police are stacked dealing with kids and teenagers running rampant in the city, leaving the woods and all the locations you need to hit deserted.

“So,” Steve says, dumping the last of the gan can on the porch of the farmhouse, “if we dated in the future, does that mean we’re, like, exes? Technically?”

A surprised laugh slips past your lips, and it seems to surprise Steve, making him smile.

“The technicalities will melt your brain,” you say, “but, I guess. Technically.”

“Hmm,” Steve says, nodding his head. “Weird.”

“Yeah,” you say, one side of your mouth turning up, “it’s really weird.”

“How long were we dating?”

“Two years.”

“And-“

“Steve, as much as I’d love to get into this,” you say, “we’re in the middle of committing arson. Think the questions can wait for the car?”

“Right. Good point.”

* * *

Steve is fairly sure he’s going to get arrested for this, and when he does, he’ll have no explanation for why he did what he did.

He doesn’t really have an explanation for himself. When he opened the door and found you on the other side, he intended to close it once again. Not because he hates you, but because he doesn’t know what he feels. The consistent emotion is confusion.

He doesn’t know why he agreed, but he did, and now, here he is. 

Brimborn is much harder to burn than Hess Farm. In the end, it’s only half in flames when you drive away. The basement, though, is engulfed; the Mind Flayer, if he finds his way to the surface, will have to find another place to set up his house of horrors, just as the Russians will.

You keep a white-knuckled grip on the wheel as you drive away, focused only on getting far away from the crime - justifiable, but very much illegal - but Steve shifts in his seat to watch the warehouse burn through the back window.

He turns forward again when it’s out of sight, settling in the seat and folding his arms. Unease skitters across his skin, doubts unfolding with each second.

You seem to sense the shift in his mood - Steve doesn’t let himself think about that - and let a hand fall from the wheel, flicking a glance in his direction.

“Thank you,” you say. “For doing this.”

“Why did you ask me?” He licks his lips, straightening in his seat. “Not to be a dick, but we haven’t talked in months. What about Nancy and Jonathan? Or that junior you hang out with, Robin?”

You let out a small, humorless laugh.

“I asked you because I knew you’d say yes,” you say.

Steve frowns. “How did you know?”

You clench your jaw, and don’t look at Steve when you reply.

“‘Cuz I know you.” You pull up to a stop sign, the intersection deserted at this time of night, and don’t drive forward, turning to look at him. “Did you really mean what you said earlier? About not…you know.”

An emotion Steve can’t name twists in his gut, gnawing at his insides. He meets your gaze and that familiar feeling rushes over him. The closest word he has for it is Deja Vu, but it’s not quite like that. It’s like seeing something in his peripheral vision; like trying to read a clock in a dream. Like there’s something on the tip of his tongue, something that slips through his fingers any time he tries to look at it.

“I don’t hate you,” he says. Heat creeps up his cheeks. “Okay, there was like _one_ week…” You snort, arching a brow, and Steve grimaces. “Nancy had just dumped me and told me about… _you know_ ,” he mimics, averting your gaze for a beat before returning it. “I know it’s not your fault. I get that you just came back here to help. And I know you-” That feeling swirls inside him, pushing against his ribs and into his lungs. “-lost everything. I didn’t hate you, though. I was pissed. I was _so_ pissed.”

“Pissed?”

Steve clenches his teeth, anger churning in his gut. It returns in a flash, all the things he thought he’d let go of.

“You didn’t tell me,” he says. “You lied to me.”

You’re quiet for a moment before you say, “And are you still pissed?”

It’s Steve’s turn for silence. He stares out the window for a long time.

Then, he looks over at you, and says, “Yes.”

You don’t reply, simply pulling the car forward and onto the side of the road before shutting off the engine and shifting in your seat to face him.

“Go ahead, then,” you say. “I know you’ve got stuff you want to say to me. So, have at it.”

Steve frowns, trying to figure out whether this is some kind of trick, but your words and expression are sincere, if not a little frustrated; he thinks you might be a little angry, like him.

“You’re mad, too,” he says. Your brows furrow, and you press your lips together. You take a long breath, and Steve can practically see the wall fall; can see the emotion you keep hidden rise like a wave.

“Of course I’m _mad_ ,” you snap. “I came back here to fix things, and all I’ve done is mess them up. And on top of that, the boy I loved doesn’t love me anymore.” You meet his gaze, shaking your head. “I know that’s not your fault, I _know_ that. But you don’t know what I left behind. You don’t know what I lost.”

“Because you won’t tell me!” He exclaims, taking your bait; maybe both of you need this. “From the moment you got back, you kept secrets. If I really meant that much to you, why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you were happy!”

“I wasn’t!” He says. He didn’t realize the words were true until he spoke them, and they render both of you silent. Something from another place slips into his fingers, a word that was attached to sentences he doesn’t know. “I wanted to be. I was doing everything right, doing what everybody told me to do, or what I thought I should do, I guess, but I wasn’t happy. It was all… _bullshit_.”

A sad smile tugs on your lips.

“Not all of it.”

All of the anger rushes out of him at once, and he shifts further in his seat to face you.

“I want to know,” he says. “I want to know about us.”

“Why?” You ask, expression twisting. “What does it change?”

“Don’t I deserve to know?”

“You do,” you say. “You do. I just…” You shake your head, and meet his gaze, nodding. “It was that night at the Byers. The first night, with the Demogorgon. We were friends after that.”

“Friends,” he says.

“ _Friends_. We were friends for a while.” A crease forms between your brows, and you stammer a few of your words, like they’re painful to say. “The first time we k-kissed was pretty soon after you and Nancy broke up, the first time around. It was-” You look away. “It was later. Anyways, our timing was shitty, but we kinda kept coming back to each other, and then, at some point, we stopped going away at all.” You shrug. “And that was it.”

Steve knows there’s more to the story - that he only heard the beginning - but he can also see the toll it takes on you to tell it. You’re tense and avoiding his gaze and choke through your words.

It’s your saddest story, and he asked to hear it, but he can’t ask for any more.

So, instead of asking for more, he just says what he thinks, without filter, without consideration.

“I wish I remembered,” he says.

You’re quiet for a long time before you say, “I do, too.” You restart the car, giving him a sad smile. “But you don’t, and that’s okay. You were my best friend, once upon a time, beyond anything else. I don’t want to…keep going like this, especially if the Mind Flayer starts playing tricks again. I’ll need you.”

Steve nods, and says, “Friends?”

“Friends,” you say, and pull back onto the street, driving him the rest of the way home in silence.

Friends. Steve doesn’t know why the word tastes so weird on his tongue; like ash and dust. He can’t quite think of you like that, because he doesn’t know what he thinks. He doesn’t know what he feels.

He doesn’t know a damn thing, but he’s going to figure it out. He knows that the telepath, Eleven, who went missing remembered you; and from little comments, from the way he seems to know you - even though he doesn’t - he has a feeling she’s alive. He has a feeling you know where she is.

If Eleven can remember, maybe she can give him his memory, too.

He needs the pieces of the puzzle back. Not even just because of you, but because he knows that something bad is coming. He needs the full picture if he’s going to help you fix things.

If the Steve you knew was on your side, then he will be too. He doesn’t really know you, but for some reason, he trusts you, and he’ll follow you.


	6. part 6

_October 30, 1984 - day 359_

_Dear Steve,_

_It’s been almost a year, now._

_I finally wake up and don’t expect to find myself somewhere else. I wake up and I always know where I am, what timeline I’m in. As the new memories pile up onto the old ones, that first 1984 feels less like the past and more like a dream._

_Sometimes, I’m not even sure it was real. Then I read over these letters, and I remember._

_I’m not the person I was when I came back, and I’m not the person I was before any of this happened. I’m not really sure who I am, or who you are, or who anyone is. Maybe none of us know; maybe I never actually did._

_For a year, I’ve watched the town like a hawk, waiting for some hint that the Mind Flayer is coming. Premature, sure, but what else was there to do when my ex-boyfriend-turned-friend wouldn’t talk to me? Which, you’re doing now, for reasons I can’t understand. Thanks for that. It’s half of what keeps me sane. You, and Robin. I’m halfway to convincing her to meet you; King Steve made his mark on a lot of people. She doesn’t know that he’s gone, yet. But she’ll get there. And when she does, I’ll really have my best friends back._

_On October 30_ _ th _ _of 1984, the first one - the original one - Hopper was told of the dying crops in Hawkins. It was the beginning of round two; it was where we all fell to pieces. We were all too far apart, all missing too many pieces, and by the time we caught up to each other, it was too late._

_This time, I really hope we can make it right. I’ve covered as many bases as I can: you and I burned Brimborn and Hess farm this summer, Will and Joyce are keeping a close eye out for episodes, El is safe with Hopper. If the crops do start to die again, we’ll just speed things up. Burn the mind flayer out of Will and send El to the gate before Bob dies or the lab gets overrun or any of it happens._

_At the very least, all of this gave me something to do. Something to pay attention to, to think about, that wasn’t you. You with that beat up red car and you, with that loud laugh and you, with that kind heart. You were never what I expected you to be, Steve Harrington, and you still aren’t._

* * *

Hopper’s cabin is booby-trapped to the high heavens, at a level that is definitely excessive but simultaneously comforting. Luckily, you helped him install the things, and after months of maneuvering through them in the cold and dark woods, the muscle memory makes the journey a mindless one.

You step around a hidden bear trap, not making a sound as you slip through the elaborate wiring and trapping, tugging your coat tighter around you to hold in your body heat. Winter has found its way into the nights in Hawkins, making the cold seep into your skin and keeping you shivering.

A twig snaps behind you, followed by nothing else - an eery, unnatural silence. Nature isn’t purposefully quiet; it ebbs and flows. Humans, though, are purposeful. 

The hairs rise on the back of your neck and you grab for the pistol at your hip, pulling it out and aiming into the darkness. Someone is hiding just out of sight, their presence sparking every one of your nerve endings.

Your mind snaps straight to Russians or maybe, just maybe, a Demogorgon. Dart will be running around in a few days; who’s to say his brothers aren’t already out on the town?

You flick the safety off the gun and call out, “You’ve got two seconds to show yourself before you’ve got a bullet in your gut.”

The bushes rustle, and Steve Harrington stumbles out of the dark and the trees, swiping stray twigs off him and holding his hands in surrender.

“ _Jesus_ ,” he curses, “Don’t _shoot_ me.”

You drop the gun, huffing a breath. Before addressing him, you tuck the pistol back into its holster and fold your arms across your chest, fixing him with a glare.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You snap. “You do realize this place has more booby traps than some paranoid lunatic in Texas, right? That is, if Hopper doesn’t shoot you himself.”

“Shit,” Steve exclaims, looking around his feet, not daring to move. For the moment, you neglect to tell him that the area is clear, letting him squirm. “ _Seriously_? Jesus.”

“Why are you following me?” You ask.

Steve frowns, face scrunching up for a moment before he sighs.

“I’m looking,” he says, “for Eleven.”

Your lips part, and you cross the grass to stand in front of him, narrowing your eyes.

“Why? What do you want with her? Why would you even think she’s…” At Steve’s cocked brow, you stop, letting out a sigh. “You’ve followed me before?”

His cheeks flush and he inclines his head, shrugging.

“Why El?” You ask.

Steve licks his lips, shifting his weight uncomfortably. He’s clearly trying to decide whether or not to lie.

“You mentioned, once, that Eleven remembers you. Because of her…powers, or whatever. I don’t know. But you didn’t say Eleven _remembered_ you. You said _remembers_. You are from the future, so it wasn’t really hard to put the pieces together.” Steve quirks a brow, almost defensive. “Not as dumb as you thought, yeah?”

You soften, shaking your head.

“I’ve never thought that,” you say. “You’re one of the smartest people I know. You found _me_ , here.” You frown. “You gonna tell me why?”

He averts his gaze, flicking glances down to his feet and up and at the trees around him, anywhere but you.

“She can get into people’s heads, right?” He asks. You nod. He shrugs, and says, “I don’t know. I guess I thought…maybe she could get into mine and…” He shrugs again. “It’s stupid.”

Your stomach drops like a stone, something pressing on your lungs and making it hard to breathe, let alone speak.

“You want the memories,” you say. “You want her to…bring them back.”

His silence is answer enough, but it leaves all of your burning questions simmering inside you. Why? _Why, why, why?_

You’ve spent too long with hope buried to dig it back up. You’re not sure you even remember where you left it.

“I don’t even know if that’s possible, Steve. If Time is a…a straight line, then all of it got erased when I came back. I have no idea why El can remember part of it,” you say. “Even if it is possible…why dig it back up?”

He lets out a breath, shaking his head.

“Ever since i found out about this…this other life I had…I don’t know. I thought maybe, if I knew what happened, I could help you.” He presses his lips together. “I thought if I knew, it would make this…this _feeling_ go away. This…” He shakes his head.

“Deja Vu?” You ask softly. His mouth twitches.

“It doesn’t make any sense, I know,” he says. “If it’s a straight line, like you said, then it never happened. But I can’t shake the feeling that I… _lost_ something. That I’m missing something.” He meets your gaze again. “When I look at you, or when you talk about that time, it’s like it’s almost there. Like it’s on the tip of my tongue, but harder to get to.”

Your stomach twists and guilt flares hot in your gut. Your intention in keeping the truth from him was to prevent him from getting hurt. And yet, all you managed to do was shatter his life a year before it was supposed to break and leave him with nothing but questions.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I didn’t know. I didn’t know that you-I don’t know. I’m just…sorry. I know I messed things up for you.”

“It’s not your fault,” he says. “You didn’t come here trying to screw me over.” His lips turn up in a lopsided smile, and you let out a sigh, rolling your eyes. You glance over your shoulder at the small light through the trees, illuminating the cabin’s porch, and meet Steve’s eyes again.

“I’m done keeping secrets from you,” you say. “From now on, if you want to be, you’re all in. All the shitty glory.” Steve nods, and you continue. “I’m meeting Hopper and El to talk about some stuff. Upside Down stuff. You coming?”

“Hell yeah,” Steve says. You snort, and turn, taking the familiar path through the trees. Steve follows, mimicking your steps and following your trail exactly.

“Trip wire,” you warn, stepping over the wire stretched across the trees.

“Paranoid ass,” Steve grumbles, hopping over the wire and shrugging off the leaves and twigs getting snagged on his jacket. You laugh, heading up the front porch to the door, Steve following close behind. You knock the pattern and wait as El unbolts the locks and swings the door open. Stepping over the threshold, you grin at the sight of El and Hopper at the table.

Steve comes in after you, peering around the door with a frown as if looking for a rope of some kind. He shakes his head, looking at El and Hopper, eyes going wide at the sight of her.

El’s eyes narrow, but just as quickly, a smile tugs on her lips. You think of the summer of 1986, when the ice cream shop in Hawkins closed along with half the town and Steve spent weeks scooping ‘professional’ cones for the kids with tubs from the store. He got creative with it, too, and he and El came up with some elaborate desserts.

Steve cocks his head, brows knitting together. You wonder if it’s that Deja Vu he talks about, the deja vu that isn’t exactly deja vu.

Hopper looks to you, cocking his brows in question, his jaw set. You wince, making a face.

“I know, I know. Trust me, I didn’t bring him. Dingus followed me here. Won’t happen again,” you say.

“Probably will,” Steve quips.

“I trust him,” El says. She meets Hopper’s gaze, nodding. “I remember him. He’s good.”

“You remember me?” Steve asks. El nods, smiling.

“Mr. Sailor Shorts.”

You snort a laugh, trying to hide it behind a hand, and El’s grin widens. Steve looks between you, confused, but neither of you elaborates.

* * *

You and Hopper sit at the table after everyone eats, Steve and El cleaning up the kitchen - more accurately, talking about random nonsense and doing a small amount of cleaning.

“You went out to the pumpkin patches today?” You ask, leaning into the red plastic table. Hopper leans back in his chair, nodding.

El and Steve join you at the table, dragging up chairs and making room for themselves, Steve squeezed in right next to you. If either of you moved an inch, your legs would be pressed together; you will yourself not to move.

“I did,” Hopper says. “Just like you said. Entire fields, dead.”

Your stomach sinks and you sit back, hands falling to your lap and curling into fists.

“Damnit,” you curse. Steve shifts, and suddenly his thigh is pressing against yours, his sneaker nudging yours as if in support.

“We figured that would happen,” Hopper says. He looks to you, brows furrowed. “You’re our psychic. What do we do next?”

“Next…” You pause. If you tell him the truth, if they burn the parasite out of Will right now, if El doesn’t take her journey to find Kali, she’ll never have the strength to close the gate. A memory isn’t enough; she needs to be there. And if you move too quickly, she won’t. “We need to know how far it’s spreading and how quickly. Just…stay away from the lab. Stick to the dying crops for tomorrow. I’ll come back tomorrow after school.”

“And what’ll you be doing?” Hopper asks, cocking a brow.

“Trying to pass my classes,” you say, grinning. “And keeping an eye on the kids.” You flick a glance at El and smile, and she smiles back. “You worry about the crops, I’ll worry about the inevitable troublemakers.”

* * *

“You lied to him,” Steve says as you make your way back up to the dirt road you both parked on, the moonlight washing the night in white light. “You hesitated.”

You reach your car and stop, turning to face him, nodding.

“I did. I needed time. Technically, El needs time.”

Steve shakes his head, and says, “God, this shit is so confusing.”

“Tell me about it.”

He huffs a laugh. You press your lips together, thinking of his words from earlier, of his emptiness, his _loss_. Stomach churning and heart hammering, you reach a hand into your bag and pull out the stack of folded papers you keep with you at all times, pulling it out and smoothing your fingers across the wrinkled paper.

A year’s worth of letters: six year’s worth - or one, depending on who you ask - of explanations. Memories from a time passed and answers for almost any question he could have.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you hold out the folded stack and avert your gaze. Steve takes them, slowly, and starts to unfold them.

“No,” you say, jerking out a hand to stop him, fingers closing around his wrist. His gaze snaps up to yours, and he frowns. “Not here. Just…not here.”

“What is this?” He asks. You give him a sad smile.

“I can’t give you your memories,” you say, “but I can give you mine.” You open your car door, climbing inside, pausing before you close the door. “Most of them were always yours, too.”

Steve looks down at the bundle of paper, then at you, his brows furrowing.

“Thank you,” he says.

You smile, and say, “See you tomorrow? Halloween.” You waggle your brows. He snorts, rolling his eyes.

“See you tomorrow.”


	7. part 7

_October 31_ _ ,  _ _1984 - day 360_

_Dear Steve,_

_You have the rest of the story, now. Or, at least, as much as I can give you._

_Now that you have it, though, I know that the you from where I come from is really gone. I can’t mess with the timeline this much without obliterating the one I’m from._

* * *

_This always felt a little bit like writing to a ghost. I guess it really is, now. Somehow, that doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Don’t get me wrong, it hurts like hell. But it’s survivable._

_A little sad, isn’t it? That the you and me from there is gone?_

_There’s no use writing to ghosts. There’s another you, here. He’s not you, but I’m starting to realize that isn’t a bad thing. There’s no best Steve Harrington. To be honest, you’re pretty great in every universe._

_To the Steve that I knew, I think it’s time that I step away. You kept me alive before I jumped back in time, and you’ve kept me alive this past year. I’ll never be able to thank you for that, but I will be eternally grateful._

_We had an epic love, as cheesy as that sounds. I used to think we only got one of those a lifetime. Maybe that’s not the case; I’m hoping it isn’t._

_Either way, I’ll miss you for a long, long time. But I need more than the missing. I need to find more._

_So, this is goodbye to the Steve from 1984 to 1987. You were my home, while it lasted._

_P.S. I actually like your hair - this you’s hair - this way. I said I didn’t, but it’s growing on me._

* * *

Tina’s Halloween party is just as you remember it from the first time, packed full of sweaty teenagers in costumes of varying levels of crappiness, the house smelling of sweat and beer and smoke and something sweet. The first time, you were thrilled to be here, anxious to dance and drink and forget about your worries.

Then you found Steve Harrington outside the house, freshly broken up with, and you were both drunk and a little lonely and you kissed, and you messed things up for a little while before you figured out how to put them back together.

This time, you intend on fulfilling the promises of the first time around: drink, dance, forget.

There’s something about the energy at parties like these, a carelessness and joy that’s infectious. Laughter builds and music pulses and people dance with their eyes closed and smiles on their lips.

You find the punch bowl immediately, filling up a cup of whatever horrid concoction Tina put out, downing half of it and refilling before heading to the dance floor.

A girl calls your name, and you turn to find Nancy pushing through the throng of teenagers, Jonathan on her tail. Both smile when they see you, drinks in their hands and a little glaze in their eyes.

Nancy wraps you in a hug, and you hug her back, both careful not to spill any of your drinks. Jonathan comes in for a side hug, to which Nancy rolls her eyes and smiles, and he steps back, looping an arm around her waist. She leans into him, comfortable, and the ease with which they move together makes your heart ache. You take a long drag before speaking.

“Happy Halloween!” You say. Nancy grins, holding up her drink and cheers’ing herself.

“Happy Halloween! Three weeks until Thanksgiving break!”

“Amen to that,” Jonathan says.

“I bet you’re not worried,” Nancy says. “You graduated before, technically.”

You grin, shrugging.

“Yeah, turns out, when you’ve been out of high school for three yours, about 75% of it goes down the drain. Especially when monsters kill half your town,” you say. They both laugh, and Nancy nods.

“So, we’re all in the same sinking boat, then!”

“Cheers to that,” Jonathan says, holding out his cup. You and Nancy knock your drinks against it, and you take a long sip, finishing the cup.

“Oh wow,” Nancy says when you lower the plastic and swipe a hand across your mouth, wiping off the foam. “Long week?”

“Long year,” you say. She huffs a laugh, and her gaze flicks over your shoulder, brows furrowing for a moment.

“Oh. You might not want to turn around.”

“Hmm?”

“Steve just got here,” she says. You glance quickly over your shoulder, catching sight of Steve in the kitchen by the punch bowl, talking to some random kid from his basketball team and laughing.

“Oh, it’s okay. We’re… _friends_ ,” you say. “But I appreciate the warning.”

“You never know with Steve,” she says, and winks. The song on the record in the living room switches, and Nancy turns to Jonathan, grinning. “I love this song! We’re dancing.”

Jonathan is smart enough not to protest, allowing Nancy to pull him into the group of people dancing in the living room. You sneak another glance toward the kitchen, but Steve is no longer there. Your stomach flips, and though it’s childish, ridiculous, and a little cowardly, you head for the hallway, the alcohol hitting. You don’t trust your tipsy self around Steve, especially not now that he has the letters - _fuck, you gave him the letters, why did you give him the letters?._ Best to just hide out in the bathroom for a few minutes and splash some water onto your face, hopefully gaining some sense in the process.

The first bathroom door is locked, presumably for throwing up or hooking up, but the second, down another hall and a bit more secluded, is not, and you push in, letting out a sigh of relief.

Your relief comes too soon. Leaning into the sink, gripping the edges with white-knuckles, is Steve Harrington, outfitted in the same Risky Business costume you remember, though the sunglasses are tucked away somewhere.

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t realize someone was-”

“Shut the door,” Steve says, “or there’ll be ten girls trying to pee in here in five seconds.”

You close the door, ignoring rationality in favor of his voice, and lean back into it, setting your empty up down on the counter. Steve turns, scanning your expression for a long moment before finally speaking.

“You’re not here to throw up, right?” He asks. You snort a laugh.

“No,” you say. “Not here to throw up.”

“Hiding?” He asks. You frown, shaking your head.

“I wasn’t-”

“It’s okay,” he says, flashing you a sheepish grin. He palms the back of his neck, inclining his head. “I was…kind of hiding, too.”

Butterflies stir in your belly, but you force them down, steeling yourself. You’ll never be sober enough to have these conversation with Steve Harrington.

You lick your lips, dropping your gaze for a beat.

“I’m guessing you…read them.”

Steve nods, turning to lean against the sink, folding his arms across his chest.

“Yeah,” he says. “I read them.”

“Asking what you… _thought_ feels a little too much like we’re in some bullshit socratic seminar but…” You shrug a shoulder, giving him a thin lipped smile.

One side of his mouth twitches up, but the smile falls as quickly as it comes. He bites down on his lip, quiet for a long moment before he finally breaks the silence.

“I must have loved you a whole lot,” he says, brows arching, his gaze flicking to yours.

Your heart breaks in half, and you give him a sad smile, saying, “You did.”

He straightens, leaning back and raking a hand through his hair. He shakes his head, letting out a little chuckle.

“What?” You ask. He shakes his head again, and looks at you.

“You know, I don’t think anyone’s ever cared about me-” he pauses, pressing his lips together for a beat before continuing. “-ever _loved_ _me_ as much as you did. And I can’t even remember it.”

Tears prick the backs of your eyes, and you threaten them, shoving them back and swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I didn’t…. _stop_ , just because I came back. Just because you can’t remember.”

He turns, brows furrowing. The sadness in his eyes is so big and great it chokes you.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry I can’t remember.”

The alcohol surging through your blood gives you the courage - albeit, possibly stupid and misplaced - to say the things you’re thinking.

“You told me that ever since I came back, you felt _off_ ,” you say. He frowns. “What did you mean?”

He lets out a breath, and says, “When I said it was like losing something, I really meant losing _you_.” He shakes his head, an incredulous look on his face. “I know it doesn’t make any sense. I mean, that _me_ is gone, but it’s like…I look at you, and somehow, I know you. It’s like I know you, but the second I try and think about it, about why or how the hell it’s possible, I lose it.”

At some point, one or both of you moved, and only a foot remains between you. Steve doesn’t stop talking.

“That night, outside my house, when I saw you bleeding, I was so angry I couldn’t see straight. I wanted to…to go out and beat the _hell_ out of whatever hurt you. It didn’t make any sense, because I didn’t even know your last name, but I would have…” He frowns. “I would have _killed_ for you, and I didn’t know why. Do you know what that’s like?”

Your stomach churns, and you’re warring between asking him to stop and asking him to keep going. You end up doing neither; you’re pinned in place, heart pounding, pulse leaping.

“It’s so damn confusing,” he says, raking a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I don’t know what the hell I feel, because there’s so _much_ of it. I don’t even know if it’s mine, or _his_.”

“I’m so sorry, Steve-”

“And you!” He says. “You look at me like I’m this amazing person, or something. You say my name like that, but I’m not _him_.” He clamps his mouth that, gaze snapping to yours. The air twists, shifts, strains, and the space between you gets smaller. “And still, I can’t get you out of my damn head.”

His gaze flicks to your mouth, and you know what’s coming before he makes a move. It’s stupid, and reckless, and bound to burn, but you make the move before he can.

You reach for him, gripping the fabric of his shirt and tugging him against you, catching his mouth in hours. For a moment, he stills, but just as fast, his hands are cupping your cheeks and you’re stepping back and back and back until you hit the door. Steve drops a hand long enough to twist the lock on the door before it’s tangling in your hair.

It feels like the sky splitting apart, like thunder in your chests and lightning in your veins, like being pulled apart and put back together all at the same time.

It’s not like any kiss you’ve had with him before; it’s not like any kiss you’ve had, period. His hands are on your waist and tracing up and down your arms and slipping beneath your shirt to settle in the small of your back, and his mouth is hot and soft, and you can’t hear a damn thing beyond the hammering of your heart.

All you can think is _I’ve missed this, I’ve missed this, I’ve missed this_.

Steve’s hands move back to your waist and he tugs you backward, murmuring a “jump” in your ear and easing you up onto the sink, nudging your knees apart to step closer. His heartbeat is just as fast as yours, and he kisses you like he’s been searching for you for a century.

It takes a moment for your brain to turn back on, but when it does, you pull back, gasping for breath, hands on his shoulders. Steve breathes heavily, too, his eyes blown and his hair wild, his brows pulling together.

“We can’t do this,” you say. “Not again.”

He frowns. “I don’t…I thought you-”

“I do. I did. I don’t know. And…and neither do you. ” Your thoughts swirl. He said it flat-out: he doesn’t know how he feels. And you know exactly how you do. But you can’t take that risk, can’t fall any farther for Steve Harrington if he won’t be there to catch you. “Look, we…we both had a lot to drink.” You press your lips together. “I should go.”

You don’t give him a chance to reply, unlocking the door and tugging it open, slipping out into the hall and heading for the front door. You don’t look back on your way out, keeping your gaze locked forward the entire walk home.

You’ve had your heart broken by Steve Harrington before; you don’t think you can handle that again.

Steve is not the mission; he was never the mission.

He can’t be.


	8. part 8

Robin is already on the bench outside when you push through the doors, Elody Miller sitting beside her. After your push, the pair have started hanging out more, and you’ve come to enjoy the lunch hours in which the two flirt back and forth, watching them flounder.

“How was Tina’s party?” Robin asks as you approach the bench, plopping down on her side, Elody on the other. Elody’s corkscrew blonde curls are tucked back into braids, and she’s wearing a sweater a few sizes too big. You narrow your eyes, and the girls grin.

“What are you…”

“A few kids saw you follow Steve into the bathroom,” Elody explains. One side of her mouth quirks up. “ _And_ they saw you come out.”

“The contents of that bathroom hook up is today’s gossip central,” Robin says.

You groan, planting your face in your hands. When you meet their gazes again, you’e frowning.

“Tell me you’re kidding.”

“Wish I could, kid,” Robin says, patting you on the arm. You straighten, folding your arms.

“Lovely. Just…lovely.”

“So….did you guys…you know…” Robin waggles her brows, and you wave her off, cheeks flushing.

You’ve spent a full two days ignoring what happened in the bathroom, and for good reason. You came back to fix problems, not create more of them. And the problem with you and Steve Harrington is a knot so tangled you don’t know how to straighten it, don’t know how to tell the different strings apart.

You can’t fight and fix if you’re also nursing a broken heart. And as much as you’d love to figure out what the hell it is between you and Steve, if anything at all, you’re not brave enough to face it right now. You’re already facing so much else.

“Nothing happened,” you say. Elody and Robin exchange a look, and cock their brows. “I’m serious. We just…we kissed. Once.”

“Haven’t you been in love with this boy for years?” Robin asks. “Isn’t this, like, a big deal?”

You let out a breath, leaning back against the metal backing of the bench.

“It’s complicated,” you say.

“Isn’t it always,” Elody says.

“You like him, right?” Robin asks. You nod. “And he likes you?”

You purse your lips, and say, “Jury is still out on that one.”

“So ask the guy,” Robin says. “Get your answer.”

“Listen to the genius,” Elody says, jerking a chin at Robin. Robin’s cheeks flush, and she averts her gaze. “Either way, you know.”

* * *

Though a few pieces of the puzzle are still in motion - Nancy and Jonathan, Dustin and Dart - you’ve managed to scrounge enough of them together to see the picture clearly; to show the others the real image.

It’s a precarious situation, one that requires care and caution. Will Byers is a spy who doesn’t realize what he is, and of the group gathered at the Byers - Bob, Hopper, Joyce, Will, Mike, Steve, and you - only you know how dangerous he is.

Will’s stack of drawings rests on the table, and you direct everyone to start taping up the map - think tunnels, you tell them - and pull Hopper aside as the others go about the organizing of Will’s drawings. The tunnel task is purely distraction, keeping their hands and minds busy as you confide in Hop.

“I’m going to tell you a few things, and I need you not to react. Got it?” You murmur, leaning against the wall and folding your arms. Hopper scans the room lazily, turning and leaning back against the wall beside you. He tugs out a pack of cigarettes, plucking one out and placing it between his lips and lighting it. When he puts the lighter and pack away, you begin to speak softly.

“Those episodes Will is having aren’t PTSD. You probably knew that. But what you don’t know, is that the Mind Flayer is still inside him. It’s using him.”

Hopper pulls the cigarette away and lets out a plume of smoke, his brows twitching, otherwise impassive. His gaze flicks to Joyce, taping up drawings across the room.

“It’s like…a Trojan horse. Sitting, waiting, watching. Will has control most of the time, but it can take it whenever it wants.”

“And you kept this secret, why?” He asks, tone low, his frustration clear. You swallow, pressing your lips together.

“When I realized it was starting again, I knew I had to let a few of the storylines play out. I can’t be everywhere at once, and even though we made a few mistakes, we made a few smart choices, too. But there are consequences,” you say.

“Will?” He asks through gritted teeth. You shake your head, answering quickly.

“No,” you say. “We can get it out of him ourselves. We just needed information. And I….I needed time.”

“Time?” You frown, and Hopper looks at you, narrowing his eyes. “I’m getting pretty damn sick of these secrets.”

“I know,” you say. “So am I. But you’ll understand, soon.”

“The ominous bullshit is _not_ helpful.”

“That doesn’t matter right now. Now,” you say, looking to the hallway leading to Will’s bedroom. The door is cracked open, and you lower your voice. “We need to put Will under. The second we start getting that thing out, it’ll send its hounds. We can’t deal with both.”

“What do we need to do?”

“Sedate him,” you say. “We can’t afford-” Movement catches in your peripheral vision, and you flinch, stomach sinking at the sight of Will standing in the hall, his head inclined, a blank look in his eyes.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Will says, voice hollow. Everything inside of you snaps, a rush of fear smacking you hard in the chest. No, no, no. This is wrong; this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

You were supposed to fix things by speeding them up. Now, you’ve alerted the Spy to his compromise.

“Joyce, get the med kit, now!” You yell. She reacts immediately, unaware of the circumstances but luckily trusting you enough to think fast. You take it from her, flipping it open and tugging out the syringe, uncapping it.

The tension in the room rises as the others take in the needle in your hand and your quick approach toward Will in the hallway, but by the time their voices break the air you’re plunge the needle into his arm and catching him as he goes limp.

_“What the heck is going-” “What the fuck did you just-” “Jesus Christ-” “Don’t touch-”_

_“_ Will is a Spy,” you say, carefully lowering him onto the carpet. “And he just told the enemy to come find us.”

* * *

The others shake off their shock quickly, Joyce jumping on board surprisingly quickly. She’s so relieved to have an explanation for the events of the past year, she isn’t even all that angry you sedated her son in the middle of the hall; a bit irritated, but no longer actively pissed, which you’ll accept.

Joyce takes Bob into Will’s room once he’s tucked into the bed to explain, presumably, while the rest of you gather weapons.

“How do we even know they’re coming?” Steve asks. “And what is _they_ , exactly?”

“Demodogs,” you say. “Like…baby Demogorgons. They’re nasty little bastards. And they’re coming. Trust me.”

“Can I-” Steve stops, setting his bat down on the coffee, table, gaze flicking around to the others; Hopper loading a shotgun, Mike with crowbar. “Can we talk, for a minute?”

You give him a withering look.

“We’re waiting for a bunch of monster dogs to attack us, and you want to talk?”

Steve’s lips pull thin, and he palms the back of his neck, shrugging.

“Have we ever had good timing?”

Your stomach twists, and you sigh, nodding. You jerk a chin toward the hall, and Steve follows you, both stopping at the far end near the back door. You lean back against the wall, hands tucked behind you.

“Talk,” you say, nodding. Steve snorts.

“ _You_ kissed _me_. And then you ran.”

“I was drunk. It was a mistake,” you say, lying straight through your teeth. Steve frowns, brows furrowing.

“You weren’t,” he says. “Not that drunk. Neither was I.”

“And you know that how?”

“Because I know _you_ ,” he says. He rakes a hand through his hair. “ _Damnit_. Never mind. This was stupid.” He turns to leave, and regret flares hot in your gut. You reach out, fingers closing around his wrist, and he stops, gaze dropping to your hand around his. You let go, licking your lips and shaking your head.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You take a breath. “I know I’ve been…horrible with this whole thing. I can’t even imagine how confusing it is, and I haven’t made it any easier. Im sorry.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says. “I didn’t even know I had.”

“It’s not your fault. I told you I was angry, and I was, but I was also…scared. And I didn’t know what to do, so I ended up doing the wrong thing.”

“Doing the wrong thing is kind of my specialty,” Steve says, one side of his mouth twitching. You smile lightly, shaking your head.

“It isn’t your fault, and I want you to know I don’t blame you, but it’s still…” You shake your head again. “Complicated. I still don’t know what to do. I don’t know where we go from here. I sure as hell don’t have any answers for you. I don’t know anything about this future.”

Something in Steve’s expression twists, and you get the feeling you’ve said the wrong thing, fucked something up that you can’t see, but before you get a chance to say anything else, or ask, or do anything, the lights flicker in the living room.

Fear flashes in Steve’s eyes, and you hold his gaze for a long moment. For those seconds, time doesn’t exist, and you’re not staring at past Steve or future Steve, but just Steve. The awkwardness and the tension dissipate, and you head for living room, both picking up weapons and moving to stand back to back. It’s an instinct for you, muscle memory, and seems to be the same for Steve, who stills when he backs up against you, as if surprised at himself, then relaxes.

The others filter into the living room, picking up random guns or weapons or crowbars, anything they could find. Even Bob has a hammer, though he looks reluctant to use it.

“You were saying about _them not coming,_ Harrington?”

“Shut it, Wheeler,” Steve retorts.

“All of you, shut up,” Hopper says.

The lights flicker like strobes, and growls ring through the air, growing closer and closer and closer. This time, there is no El to save you; she’s not even in Hawkins, right now.

This time, it’s up to all of you. A ragtag group of completely unqualified individuals, which is quite characteristic.

The Demodogs come, and they keep coming. Time loses meaning again, splintering in the face of blood spatters and gunshots and growls, the dark night bleeding into the dawn.

The sun rises on another day, and the last of the dogs retreat. When the dawn does come, finally, all of you are left standing, blurry-eyed, blood-covered, weak and weary, exhausted but alive. Bodies litter the Byers front yard, but not a single one of them is a good guy.

It’s a small victory, but one you willingly accept.


	9. part 9

_November 3, 1984, 6:07 AM_

_It feels dumb to start these things out with ‘dear so-and-so,’ and I already feel stupid enough writing this, so I’m just gonna jump right in. Get it? Jump? Like you_ _jumped_ _through time? No?_

_Anyways. We almost died last night. Now you won’t talk to me. And for some reason, you’re the only person I_ _want_ _to talk to. I figure, if you found a way to talk to me without ever actually doing it, maybe I could give it a shot._

_Hence (found that word in the dictionary. I like it) the diary entry/don’t ever tell anyone I’m saying this, but maybe-love-letter._

_I had a dream the night of Tina’s party. I saw you and me. We were somewhere else, doing what we did in that bathroom, but…yeah, I’m not going to go into detail. You remember. You were_ _actually_ _there._

_I had another dream the next night. We were with a girl - Robin, maybe? - in the video store. I don’t know what we were talking about, but we were laughing. I remember feeling like I was at home. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that before. Pretty shitty, isn’t it, that one of my best memories isn’t even mine?_

_That’s why I can’t talk to you about this. Because I’m not_ _him_ _. That guy, that Steve, is a hell of a lot better than me. I’ve already hurt you once. Do_ _you_ _even trust me not to do it again?_

_I think I love you. I think I have since you came back, I just didn’t know how, or why, so I pretended I didn’t._

_It’s like you said: it’s complicated. Really goddamn complicated._

_~ Sincerely, or love, or from - whichever you want - Steve_

* * *

Hopper gathers and burns the Demodogs bodies as the sun rises over the trees, bringing morning and the safety of the light with it. Joyce gives Will another round of sedatives, and by the time the morning sun is bright and hot in the sky, everyone has shed their blood-stained clothes, patched up any minor injuries - and they were all minor, thankfully - and set about cleaning up the wreckage the battle left on the Byers home.

“Has anyone heard from Jonathan?” Bob asks, gathering in the kitchen with you, Hopper, Mike, Steve, and Joyce.

You frown, avoiding Steve’s gaze, and say, “He and Nancy are at Murray Bauman’s. They should be back today.”

“And you know this…because you’re a time traveler…” Bob says. Joyce touches his arm, a sympathetic smile on her lips.

“In case you’re wondering, I _am_ aware of how crazy it sounds.”

“Surprisingly, not the craziest thing I’ve heard or seen in the past day.”

You give him a tiny smile, pushing back the images of Joyce mourning him; he’s alive, he’s here. Maybe it’ll stay that way; maybe no more lives need to be lost.

“What about Dustin and Lucas?” Mike asks, his brows arching hopefully.

“You guys lost Dart, right?”

Mike nods. “We looked for hours, everywhere, but he’s gone.”

You crinkle your nose, and say, “He’s not. Dustin has him.”

Mike curses.

“I knew it! I _knew_ he-”

“Not the time, kid,” Hopper says, and Mike frowns, but goes quiet, folding his arms across his chest. Hopper meets your gaze, waiting. You nod, taking a moment to collect your thoughts.

“Okay. Steve and I will go get Dustin. We’ll bring him and Lucas back here. As for you guys, keep Will sedated.” You meet Hopper’s eyes, emphasizing your words. “And whatever you do, stay away from the lab.”

* * *

“You did good,” you tell Steve, sitting in the passenger seat of his car on the drive to the Wheelers. Dustin will be headed there today to find Mike and get help; he’ll get you and Steve instead. “Last night. With the Demodogs.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” Steve says, flashing you a lopsided grin. “I give it a 7/10.”

You snort, and say, “I think I deserve at least an 8. I beheaded one of them.”

“A regular Demogorgon, maybe. But a baby only gets you seven points. Sorry.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back in the seat, gaze sliding across the horizon and the sleepy town. Even after a year in the past, it still fills you with an unidentifiable ache to see Hawkins full of life.

“What are you thinking about?” Steve asks, one hand falling from the wheel, flicking a glance in your direction.

“Time, I guess,” you say. Steve’s mouth twitches.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You’re going to ask it anyway.”

Steve smiles, but it falters. He presses his lips together. “Do you still miss him?” He pauses. “Like, the old me. Or future me. Whatever.”

You don’t reply for a long time. You spent many months mourning the boy you left behind, but in doing so, you missed out on the one standing in front of you.

This is not the same Steve, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a good one; that doesn’t mean he isn’t just as good, maybe even better. Maybe there is no better or best; maybe there’s just what we have, now, and if we can make it enough.

“No,” you say eventually. “Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

You meet his gaze, giving him a tiny smile.

“Maybe _this_ you is growing on me.”

Steve pauses a beat, and asks, “What was he like?”

“He was a lot like you,” you say, a tiny smile tugging on your lips. “Brave. A little cocky. Funny.” You flick a glance at Steve, who keeps his gaze on the road, though he’s clearly listening. “You’re…quieter. A little sadder. That one might be my fault. But you’re also…I don’t know. More hopeful, maybe.”

Steve chews in the inside of his mouth, his brows furrowed, and he’s quiet for a long moment before he says, “Thank you.”

“You can ask me whatever you want. I told you I was done with secrets, and I meant it.”

Steve’s cheeks flush pink, and he licks his lips.

“I’ve been having dreams. About…where you came from. Memories. At least, _I think_ they’re memories,” he says. The question within the words is unspoken.

“What did you see?”

Steve’s lips part and he grips the steering wheel tighter.

“I saw us with that girl, Robin, at the video store. Did we work there?”

You nod. “We started up after Starcourt. That’s a memory. How the hell you’re seeing it, I don’t know, but it did happen in my time.”

“And…” Steve pauses.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on. No secrets, right? If I’m gonna-”

“The water tank,” he says suddenly. “We climbed up to the roof of the tank.”

Your stomach twists and heat creeps onto your cheeks. Of course, of all the memories that could surface, it had to be one of _those_.

“Oh. That night.” The warmth in your cheek burns as the memories roll like film credits behind your eyelids, and that old ache in your chest presses onto your lungs. “That’s, uh, that’s a memory, too.”

Steve nods curtly, lips pressed together, his cheeks as red as yours. After a beat, though a goofy smile tugs up on his lips, and he flashes a glance your way.

“Does that mean, technically, I’ve seen you nak-”

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll take the bat to your head.”

Steve grins, and turns his attention back to the road.

“ _Touchy_ ,” he says.

* * *

Dustin is easily convinced into the car, though rather than taking him back to his home as he requests, Steve drives to the Sinclairs where Lucas and Max should be. As he drives, you explain.

“What about Dart?” Dustin protests.

“Dart is a baby Demogorgon,” you say, “so maybe it’s time to cut your losses with that one.”

“But-“

“No _but’s_!” Steve snaps. Dustin frowns, folding his arms across his chest and grumbling softly beneath his breath. It’s inevitably a string of curses, but both of you ignore it.

Lucas and Max are coaxed in by Dustin, and though clearly confused as to your and Steve’s involvement, they jump on board quite quickly. With Will and Mike waiting for them, their doubts and hesitations are pushed away. As for Max, she’s mostly still here out of curiosity; that bubble will pop soon.

* * *

The Byers driveway is vacant when Steve pulls into it, and you’re out of the car and running up the porch before Steve even shuts the car off, the others on your heels.

The house is as empty as the driveway, and on the table rests a note, signed by Hopper.

_Will started seizing. We had no choice. - Hopper_

You drop the note, and Steve, Max, Lucas, and Dustin reach the kitchen, gathering around you.

“What’s going on?” Lucas asks.

“Where are they?” Asks Dustin. You meet Steve’s gaze, your stomach dropping.

“They went to the lab. The scientists started the burn.”

* * *

“This is crazy,” Robin says, squeezed into the front seat beside you, perched half on your lap and gripping the oh-shit handle for dear life as Steve speeds down the quickly darkening streets. “This is fucking crazy. You realize that, right?”

“I do,” you say, “but I don’t have a lot of time to catch you up. Do you trust me?” You crane your head to meet her gaze, and she frowns, hesitant for only a moment.

“Yes. But if I die because you stuffed me in Steve Harrington’s car-”

“Appreciate the support,” Steve says.

“Stop tearing around those corners, and I’ll be kinder,” Robin retorts. You can’t help but smile, despite the circumstances.

You needed help. And with Nancy and Jonathan still MIA, you can’t exactly go in with just Steve. There’s not a chance in hell you’re bringing the kids in with you; the whole point in corralling them was to keep them out of trouble. As of now, in Steve’s backseat, they are, and you plan on keeping it that way.

Dusk bleeds at the edges of the sky, the sun beginning its descent. Soon, it will be gone completely. Soon, the Demodogs will be swarming the lab. Soon, shit will hit the _literal_ fan.

“Drive faster,” you tell Steve, and he obliges without question. Robin curses but holds on tighter. She has a shotgun in her lap, owned by - and stolen from - her father.

Part of you hates yourself for dragging her into the danger like this, but the other half is so grateful to have Steve and Robin with you that it blots out the first.

The lights are out at the lab when Steve pulls up the gate, but he doesn’t bother with the code, putting the car in park and twisting in his seat to face the three teens in the back.

“Stay in the car. And when I say stay in the car, I mean _stay_ in the _goddamn_ car, or I swear on all of your mother’s lives that god’s wrath will have _nothing_ on mine. Got it?” Steve says, voice hard, looking between the kids. Dustin and Lucas clearly want to protest but are both too intimidated by Steve - an amusing and hilarious sight - to argue. Whether or not they listen once you’re all out of sight, though, is not something you can guarantee.

Steve climbs out of the car, and Robin pops the door open, climbing out and taking her gun with her. You follow, nudging the door shut and joining Steve and robin at the trunk. Steve tugs out his bat and hands it to you, pulling out a set of bolt cutters and heading for the gate. He clips through a few of the chains, forcing the metal fencing apart enough to squeeze through.

Once he’s satisfied with the opening, he turns back, arching his brows.

“You guys ready to do this?” He asks. You smirk, meeting him at the fence and handing him the bat, ducking through the metal and stepping into the lab’s courtyard. Steve follows, and Robin comes through last, gripping her shotgun tightly.

“What’s the plan?” Steve asks.

“Clear the path,” you say. “They’re going to be making an escape, soon, and this place is swarming with dogs. Kill as many as you can.”

“Not, like, actual dogs, right?” Robin asks.

“You’re gonna wish they were,” Steve says.

“Really helpful, Harrington.”

“I aim to please,” Steve says, flashing her a grin. Robin rolls her eyes, but one side of her mouth twitches.

“Less talking, more trying not to get killed, please,” you say. Steve grins, and you head up the grass, the others on your heels. The grounds are eerily silent, but as the minutes pass and you move closer to the main compound, the silence is broken by rising growls.

Robin freezes, eyes going wide.

“Holy shit.” She meets your gaze. “So you weren’t kidding.”

“Unfortunately not,” you say. She huffs, shaking out her shoulders and readjusting her hold on the gun.

“Next time, let’s go to the bowling alley,” she says.

“Sounds like a plan.”

“If we don’t die here,” Steve says.

“Once again,” Robin says, “ _Not helpful._ ”

* * *

Bodies litter the entrance to the lab, visible through the plexiglass. Robin presses a hand to her mouth at the sight of them but composes herself. One of the doors is cracked open, and you nudge it open, slipping inside, Robin and Steve behind you. Before letting it close, Steve leans down and shoves a small rock in the doorway.

_Good boy_ , you think, and flash him a smile, which he returns.

A bone-chilling growl echoes down the halls, and your blood goes cold, the moment splintering. Robin’s grip on her gun is white-knuckled, and Steve has his bat raised as he scans the wide room.

Footsteps pound down the hall, making Steve and Robin flinch, but the door flies open to reveal Hopper carrying a sheet-wrapped Will, followed by Joyce and Mike.

Hopper doesn’t question your presence, simply calling, “We’ve got two on us!”

“Steve,” you snap, and take the shotgun out of Robin’s hands, cocking it and aiming. Steve jogs toward the door, perched at the side with his bat, and when the first dog runs through, he brings the studded end down hard on its skull. It squeals, hitting the floor hard, half its head still caught in Steve’s bat.

Steve yanks it out, but not before the second dog runs through the door. He doesn’t catch it in time, and you point the gun, pulling the trigger. The shot sends you back a step, but you hold your ground, ready to fire again. The dog stays down, torso ripped to shreds, and the doorway stays quiet and empty; no more dogs, for now.

“Car?” Hopper asks, balancing Will in one hand and a massive gun in another. Joyce stands off to the side, staring at the doorway, as if willing something - someone - to come through.

“Robin?” You ask. She nods, and Steve tosses her the keys. “Jonathan and Nancy should be joining us. Hop a ride.”

Her brows furrow, but before she can speak, Steve says, “I’ve learned it’s best to ask questions later.” Your insides warm, but you shove it down; Bob is still in there.

Robin nods, and jogs to the door, carefully taking Will from Hopper’s arms. Mike runs to help her, the pair shoulder Will out the door and down the drive.

“Bob?” You ask Hopper, softly. He shakes his head.

“We don’t know,” he says. You nod, and look to Steve, who already has his eyes on you. With a simple jerk of the chin, he follows you to the door, where you position yourselves in front with your weapons raised.

“Shoot anything that isn’t Bob Newby,” you say, and Steve nods, all business. “They’ll be on all sides.”

The door crashes open and Bob throws himself through, panting heavily, shoving the door shut behind him. A Demodog throws itself into it, thumping hard against the wood.

The peace holds for one second, just as it did the first time, and two dogs bolt through another doorway. Hopper takes one down, and Steve smashes the other with his bat, but three more are on its tail, and two from the other side.

The air is gunshots and smoke and blood and time rubs its power in your face, seeming to slow and making you watch the dogs filter into the room in slow motion, multiplying until the white tile is more slick-skinned creature than floor, their bodies writhing as they throw themselves toward you.

There are too many of them, and you know that, but you keep re-cocking the gun and firing, anyway.

Hopper and Steve yell, but you can’t hear them over the shots. You can’t hear or see anything but the dogs and the gunfire.

One slips through your shots, and Joyce screams as it latches onto Bob, his cry joining hers and splitting the air apart. Panic skitters along your skin, and you raise your gun only to realize you’re out of ammo.

“We have to go, Y/N!” Steve yells, fear bleeding into his tone.

“We can’t!”

Bob is dying, Joyce is screaming, Hopper is still shooting; you can’t think or breathe or move or do anything but _see_ it all.

Steve moves to stand in front of you, blocking the image, his expression stern.

“We have to go. Now.”

“I can’t! I can’t let it happen again! Joyce loves him, and we can’t let him die!”

Steve takes you by the shoulders, brows furrowed, and says, “Well…well, I love _you_! And I can’t let _you_ die. So don’t make me throw you over my shoulder, because I will.”

Your heart rips in half, thoughts slippery and doused in fear, but you do as he says. You turn, and you drop the gun, and you run for the doors. Hopper wrangles Joyce out, and Steve takes your hand, the seconds speeding up until you suddenly find yourself sitting in the backseat of the police car, Hopper, Joyce, and Mike in the front, Will sprawled across the backseat, you and Steve curled up in the bed amongst Hopper’s tools and random items.

The car is deathly silent, the sadness so thick all of you fear you’ll choke if you try to speak through it.

All you can think is _I failed, I failed, I failed_. Bob is still dead and the mind flayer is still not out of Will, and as much as you tried to change things, you somehow ended up right back where you were the first time. Did you ever even have a chance, or was this destiny solidified long before you were ever in the picture?

The real question: was any of it worth it?

Steve’s hand brushes your arm, and he threads his fingers through yours, dragging your thoughts back to the present. He meets your gaze, brows furrowed, lips turned down in a frown, and he doesn’t need to speak for you to understand. He merely squeezes your hand, and you lean your head on his shoulder, and he tips his head against yours, and the horrible, cold world doesn’t feel as cold and horrible, at least for a moment.

Maybe it will be worth it, if you can survive it.


	10. part 10

**November 5, 1984**

The Byers’ home reeks of defeat after Bob’s death despite the successful battle against the Demodogs that you fought the night prior. That victory feels invisible now, like it never happened at all. Like after you took six steps forward, you took twelve back.

It all unfolds the way it did the first time, mostly, though this time, you’re shouldering the weight of the bodies you’ve left behind. A year’s worth of work - four years’ worth of sacrifice - and nothing to show for it but blood and debris.

The ragtag group splits up inside the home, working their way through the events of the last few days in their own ways. You stay on the porch, a coat tugged tightly around you for warmth, unable to go inside and play the psychic they all expect you to be. Because you’re not a psychic, and you don’t have the answers. With every day that passed in this time, you lost your advantage more and more. Now, you’re virtually the same as the rest of them: lost.

So, for now, you sit, and you wait for Eleven. If that goes the way it should, you have a chance. If it doesn’t, if El doesn’t show, you’re completely and utterly fucked.

The front door whines as someone opens it and steps out, rickety wood creaking as they tug the door shut and cross the porch.

Steve sits down beside you, resting his arms on his knees, his gaze on the darkness ahead.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” he says, and doesn’t elaborate; he doesn’t have to. The guilt coiling in your gut burns hot, a constant reminder.

“I knew he was going to die. I left him behind. I knew Barbara was going to die, too. And I wasn’t fast enough.” You shift, looking at him, your brows furrowing. “It was my job to come back here and fix things. Look around. How can you say it’s not _my_ fault?”

Steve purses his lips, meeting your gaze. He looks a lot like the Steve from your time, then, older and wiser than his years; like he’s seen lifetimes of pain and loss in his nineteen years.

“If Bob’s….” Steve stops, gaze dropping to his hands, fingers curled into fists. “If it’s anybody’s fault, it’s mine.” He lifts his gaze to yours, guilt akin to yours flickering in his eyes. “You didn’t want to leave. I made you.”

“I could have fought you off. I could have stayed. But I didn’t.”

Steve is quiet for a long moment before he speaks again.

“Do you ever think, maybe, some things are supposed to happen?” He asks. He inclines his head, a crease forming between his brows. “Like, maybe no matter what we do, or how much we fight it, some things are…”

“Fate?”

He crinkles his nose but shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah. I guess. _Fate_.”

“If they are, then why send me back?”

“You don’t know who sent you back. Or why.” He shrugs again. “Maybe you were supposed to fix something different. Something you don’t even know about. Maybe it’s aliens. Or, maybe, it’s all bullshit, and there’s no reason for any of it.”

“Aliens?”

He smiles lightly, shifting more in your direction. His knees bump into your legs, but neither of you notices or moves.

“Two years ago, aliens sounded just as insane as monsters and, like, mutant teenagers, and time travel. Honestly, nothing’s all that crazy sounding anymore.”

You smile, but it falters, and you drop your gaze to your lap. Steve slides a hand over, flipping his palm up in a silent question. You place your hand in his, threading your fingers together and letting out a breath.

“I know you don’t think you’ve made any difference, here, but that’s not true.” His mouth twitches, his expression softening. “I read your letters, and I might not remember all of it, but the way I see it, you’ve saved a lot of people. And not just, like, from dying, which you’ve done, too. I mean…” He licks his lips, brows furrowing. “We were all really lost when you came back. And the way you tell the story, it took us a long time to find ourselves. A lot of us didn’t. But in this world, or time, or whatever…you showed us - _me_ \- a lot of shit that we might never have figured out. You brought us together. You helped save Will last year, and you got us out of the lab today.”

“ _I_ didn’t do all that. It already happened.”

“Not for me,” Steve says. “Not for us. Who’s to say we would have made it out this time around? It could have been dumb luck that you survived the first one. But in my time, you saved our asses. And even if that other time isn’t, like, erased, it’s not yours anymore. This is what matters.”

You meet his gaze, a tiny smile tugging on your lips.

“What you said…at the lab. Was that just to get me to leave with you?”

Steve’s lips part and his cheeks flush slightly. He sits back, raking a hand through his hair and shrugging.

“No, it was…” He shrugs again. “I didn’t even realize it, until right then, I don’t think, but it was like, all of a sudden, I could _see_ you getting torn apart by those dogs, and I couldn’t even _think_ about living in a world without you in it, and I-” He stops, gaze snapping to yours. “It wasn’t just to get you to leave. I know I’m not… _him_ -”

“Stop,” you say. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

He smiles sheepishly, shrugging a shoulder.

“He was kind of a hero. How am I supposed to compete with him?”

“Compete with him? You _are_ him,” you say. “The best parts of Steve Harrington. And some new ones.”

He clears his throat.

“Do you still…you know, l-”

Movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention, and both you and Steve go on the defensive, conversation forgotten in the face of danger.

It isn’t danger, though, but Eleven. She looks the way she did last time, kohl rubbed around her eyes, dark outfitted and walking with newfound confidence.

Relief washes through you, and you push off the porch, running to her and wrapping her in a hug. She stills, but hugs you back, gripping tightly.

“Thank god,” you say. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

She pulls back and smiles.

“I remembered,” she says. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“You’re right on time,” you say. As you walk her back to the porch, you quickly fill her in on what she’s missed, and she’s able to put the pieces together with what she remembers.

“The gate?” She asks as you reach Steve, standing on the porch. She flashes him a smile, which seems to surprise him, but he smiles back.

“Same as last time,” you say through clenched teeth. “Though, there should be fewer dogs. We massacred a good amount.”

Her brows lift, and you smirk, heading to the front door. You push it open, heading inside, Steve behind you. El hesitates, and you turn, clearing your throat and getting the other's attention.

“This,” you say, “is why we needed to wait.”

Eleven steps over the threshold hesitantly, gaze scanning the room and its inhabitants and settling on Mike instantaneously, her relief palpable. A weight seems to tumble off her shoulders, and silence falls over the room as the two meet in the middle of the living room, tears shining in both of their eyes.

“El,” he says. Eleven reaches up, touching his cheeks. She smiles, and says, “ _Mike_.”

* * *

Hopper, who hadn’t even realized Eleven wasn’t at his cabin, bounces between anger at you and El and relief at her safety. Luckily, the lingering Mind Flayer helps him get over it quickly, and while you’re not convinced you’ve avoided a lecture for good, at least he isn’t actively glaring at you any longer.

“We’re splitting into two,” you say, leaning into the kitchen table. Hopper, Joyce, Eleven, Mike, Lucas, Dustin, Max, Steve, Robin are gathered around the kitchen, some leaning into cabinets, some crowded around the table, all on edge.

Robin, to her credit, is taking the whole thing incredibly well. You’re pretty sure Steve pulled her aside and gave her some sort of explanation, as she seems to follow along better than you expected, and her hostility toward him has diminished.

“Now, when I tell you where to go and what to do, you need to _actually_ go there and do it. I only have the future I remember, and this one isn’t the same, anymore, so I’m nearly as blind as the rest of you, and if you go off-script, I don’t know shit. But I think this will work.”

“ _Think_?” Dustin asks. Mike elbows him.

“You got anything better?” Steve asks, and Dustin frowns but concedes. Steve looks to you, nodding. “Then shut up and listen to Y/N.”

Robin flicks a glance your way, cocking a brow, and you roll your eyes, ignoring her.

“Okay. This is how it’s going to down,” you say, spreading out the small map of Hawkins over the table. “Joyce, Jonathan, and Nancy, you’re going to take Will to Hop’s cabin. I’ll tell you exactly how to get the parasite out of Will. The rest of us are going to the lab. Hopper, Eleven, Steve, Robin, and I are going in.”

“What about us?” Asks Mike.

You look at the kids, lips quirking up in a smile.

“You’re going to help with plan B,” you say. “I’m blowing up the lab as soon as that gate is closed, and you’re going to help me do it.”

* * *

Joyce, Jonathan, Nancy, and Will depart for the cabin, and the kids head off on their bikes to the store in search of gasoline before meeting you and the others at the lab. Everyone has walkies to maintain contact, but even that knowledge doesn’t curb the anxiety rolling through you.

Maybe Steve was right, and things don’t happen the same way every time; maybe it’s all a game of chance, a roll of the dice, a stroke of luck. Maybe you and the others won’t be as lucky this time.

If you don’t have luck or fate to rely on, you’ll rely on yourself.

It’s still a ghost town inside, lights flickering over blood-streaked floors and long-dead bodies. The silence is eery, though preferable to the scrabble and snarl of the Demodogs, but still unsettling as you follow Eleven and Hopper down the halls, Robin with a shotgun and Steve with his bat trailing behind you.

“This how you remember it?” Steve asks softly. You scrunch your nose, flicking a look his direction.

“I wasn’t here last time,” you say. He presses his lips together, huffing out his nose, brows twitching.

“Cool,” he says. “Reassuring.”

“You signed up for this,” you remind him.

“I didn’t,” Robin says.

“Regret it yet?” Steve asks her. She pauses, but says, “Weirdly…no.”

“This is it,” El says, stopping in front of an elevator. Hopper punches the button, and you all raise your weapons, still and stiff as the doors open to reveal a blood-stained, but empty, elevator. You drop your guns, moving into the elevator, punching the lowest level.

“Feels like there should be some music,” Steve says as the elevator plummets slowly.

Robin starts to hum a corny tune and after a moment, Steve joins in. You join, too, because while you might all die down there, right now, right here, you have your friends back, and the world doesn’t feel as broken.

The moment splinters as the elevator dings its arrival on the bottom level, the door sliding open to reveal a dark hallway, the air speckled with dust and debris; the gate.

El walks casually down the hall, but you, Hopper, Steve, and Robin are tense and tight, weapons raised and gazes scanning every inch of the hallway for danger.

The control room is deserted, the glass shattered, the rickety shaft stretching down into the depths and the gate. Orange-red light bleeds through the hole, like blood beckoning from the gate lurking below.

“We’ll keep as many dogs off you from above as we can,” you say. You look to El. “You can close this thing. You did it before.”

She nods, grim-faced, and steps onto the rusty metal platform, Hopper joining her. He presses the button, and they begin to descend, growing smaller as they plunge deeper into the cavern.

You can tell the moment El begins; the ground trembles as if the Upside Down itself is crying out in protest. Footsteps - animalistic and quick - smack down the hall behind you, and the door bursts open, a handful of Demodogs flooding in.

Robin takes down the first without hesitation, and you fire at the last two, their faces exploding as the bullets rip into their skin.

“Nice one,” you say, and Robin grins, cocking the shotgun again in reply.

The shaking intensifies, and a scream - El’s - echoes from below, and the dogs continue filtering through the door. Some make it past you and into the hole, and some don’t, but you and Steve and Robin keep fighting anyway, shooting and swinging until the world around you blurs and all that exists are snarling dogs and gunshots and the glint of metal off the studded nails on Steve’s bat.

And then, just as quickly as it began, it stops. The dogs fall where they stand, and the shaking ceases, and El’s scream goes silent, and the bright light from below winks out like a blown-out candle.

* * *

There’s nothing to run from, not anymore, but no one seems to trust that sentiment, all bolting through the halls of the lab. Hopper has El over his shoulder, gripping her tightly as the four of you tear down hallways and up stairwells.

When you push through the front door, gulping in the fresh air, Hopper heads for the truck, getting it started up, and you, Robin, and Steve head the opposite way.

“So, when you say burn the place down-” Robin starts. You round the corner, coming upon Dustin, Lucas, Max, and Mike dumping the last of the gas cartons on the back of the building. The entire place reeks of gasoline, and from the number of empty cans littering the property, they doused the place.

“Yeah. We’re like, _burning_ it down.”

“That’s…super illegal.”

“You should have seen us last summer,” Steve says, flashing Robin a smirk. “What do you think happened to Hess farm? Brimborn?”

Robin narrows her eyes.

“That was _you_?”

“Y/N’s idea,” he says, “but yeah. Us.”

“Less talking, more arson, please,” you say. Steve rolls his eyes.

“The place is soaked,” Max says as you approach.

“Think it’ll burn?”

“I’d be surprised if it doesn’t take out an entire acre,” Lucas says, grinning.

“Normally, I’m all for environmental conservation, but…if this prevents me from ever having to see one of those dogs again, I’ll let it slide.”

You reach into your pocket, pulling out a stack of matchbooks and passing them out. You look around the group of teenagers and young adults, a group of vandals or superheroes, whichever way you want to look at it, and smile.

“Burn it all down.”

* * *

The smoke billows from the other side of the lab, one of the fires already started as you and Steve reach the far corner, stopping near a few shattered windows where the kids poured gasoline in.

You strike the match and it hisses to life, flame bright. You toss it in, and Steve lights another, sending it in after yours. The matches catch the debris and gasoline, perfect kindling, and fire engulfs the room, sending a wave of heat into your faces.

Steve takes you by the arm, pulling you back and leaning over you, shielding your body with his. The flame settles, and his grip relaxes, his gaze snapping to yours.

“You didn’t finish your question earlier,” you say. He frowns.

“What happened to no talking during arson?”

You smile, shrugging, and say, “I do, by the way. Still love you.” Steve’s lips part, but before he gets a chance to respond, you turn, heading back in the direction of the parking lot. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before we end up fried.”

“Wait-”

You pause, meeting his gaze over your shoulder, smiling.

“No talking during arson,” you say. Steve rolls his eyes, grumbling, but follows you.

There will be time to talk, later. For now, though, you watch the lab burn out the back window of Hopper’s car, listening to Joyce reassure Hopper over the radio that Will is fine, he’s safe, he’s Will again.

For now, there is peace. For now, for tonight, you’ll take it.


	11. part 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow!! that’s a wrap my dudes!!! the support on this au has been amazing and i love all of u w my whole damn heart!! thank you for reading and commenting, yall are goddamn stars and i appreciate you!!! thanks for sticking with another wacky au!!

**December 15, 1984**

Only once the debris settles can you see the landscape for what it really is. After a month of letting the dust settle, the pieces of the puzzle are finally visible, and the differences are highlighted.

Kline loses the election, and with his loss, Starcourt Mall will never be built. Hess Farm, the lab, and Brimborn are all ash, and though none of you can guarantee the Russians have stayed away, all signs point to yes. There’s nowhere for them to go.

You won’t know whether you made the right choices until next summer, but from where you’re standing, it feels a hell of a lot like a success. That may crumble and burn, but for now, you’re content to live in it.

“You look great, man,” Steve says, twisting in the drivers seat to look at Dustin beside him. You lean forward between the two seats, reaching up to flick a stray curl out of Dustin’s eyes, lips curling up in a smile.

“It’s true. You look like a million bucks,” you say. A shy, tiny smile tugs on Dustin’s lips, and he reaches up to touch his hair lightly. Steve reaches over, patting his shoulder.

“Come on. Get in there,” he says. Dustin smiles again, popping the door open and hopping out, pausing to give you and Steve a reassuring smile before he heads across the road and up the steps into the gymnasium.

With Dustin out of the front seat, you slide across the bench, opening the back door and climbing out onto the concrete. You tug open the passenger seat door, about to drop down into it when someone calls your name.

Eleven jogs over from Hopper’s truck, where he and Joyce are sharing a cigarette, a smile on her lips. She stops in front of you, lips curling up in a smile.

“You look incredible!” You tell her. “Beautiful.”

She smiles, blushing, and shrugs. Her lips pull thin, smile faltering.

“I need to give you something,” she says. You pause, frowning.

“Give me something? What?”

She inclines her head, seeming to rifle through her index of words, and when she doesn’t find the right ones, she shrugs.

“I…it will make sense when I show you.”

“Show me?”

Her brows furrow, and she says, “I am to show you this, since you didn’t come back.”

“What? El, I don’t-”

She reaches out, a hand on your arm, her eyes falling shut. The world splinters, and darkness swallows you, dragging you out of reality and into something that might be a memory.

_“How is this possible?” You ask. You’re staring at yourself, like a mirror reflection, but different. The you standing across from you is at least five years older, scarred and bruised and tired. They are worn and weary; they’re you, from another time._

_“El,” they say. “It took a while, but her powers evolved. She figured out how to…affect the timeline. Send me back.”_

_You stop, gaze trailing up and down the older you. The jacket wrapped around their shoulders is familiar, and it takes a moment to recognize it as Steve’s. Steve’s lucky hoodie, the one he never takes off. It’s the one item of clothing he never let you snag._

_Your stomach drops, and you ask, “Why are you here?”_

_They purse their lips, averting their gaze. Your stomach drops, and you push forward._

_“Who is it?” You ask. “Who died?”_

_The other you huffs bitterly, meeting your gaze._

_“It would be faster,” they say, “to tell you who didn’t.”_

_Your lips part, stomach churning, heart beating a mile a minute. You don’t want to know; you have to know._

_“Tell me,” you say. They close their eyes for a long moment before opening them again, the sadness piercing their gaze._

_“Eleven, Robin, Lucas, and me. You. Whatever.” They shake their head. “We’re all that’s left.”_

_Your heart plummets, tears pricking the backs of your eyes. The other you looks away, their fingers curling around the edges of the hoodie sleeves, as if drawing strength from the fabric._

_“No,” you say. “He’s not-”_

_The other you’s silence is answer enough, and they tense, nodding._

_“I’m here because there’s a chance,” they say. “El can send you back. You can fix things before they’re too broken.”_

_“Why me? Why not…you?”_

_They smile sadly, hesitating before hiking up the hoodie to reveal a red-stained bandage wrapped around their torso, wincing._

_“Because I’ll be gone soon, too,” they say. “And because I’m not the right Y/N for the job. You are.”_

_“Why? Why me?”_

_Their smile is sad, and they incline their head._

_“Because you still believe the world can be saved. And I don’t.” They nod their head, wincing again. “I had to give you a choice. We’ve never been given that, and I thought…” They laugh, but it’s mirthless. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter, is that you can save them. You can save all of them.”_

_“Steve?” You ask, softly. They give you a sad smile._

_“Yeah,” they say, “Steve.”_

_“How? How is any of this-”_

_“I don’t have a lot of time, and neither do you. El is going to take this memory from you, of us meeting. I don’t think I could do this if I knew everyone was…” They stop. “El will send you back. You need to stop the Russians. Whatever you do, keep them out of Hawkins for as long as you can. We thought it was the Upside Down that screwed us, but it was them. That’s your priority.”_

_“But-“_

_“I’ll come back to find you, if I can. If this doesn’t work…if my timeline stays intact…” The ‘if you fail’ is unspoken, but understood. “If I can’t come back, that means you did it. And if I don’t come back, Eleven will give you this memory. That’s how you’ll know.”_

_The lights flicker around you, and the other you stiffens._

_“Wait! Wait, I need to-” You say._

_They give you a sad smile._

_“I don’t have any more time,” they say. “But you do. Don’t waste it.”_

_The lights flicker again, and the other you is gone, blinked out of sight._

_“Y/N?” The door opens behind you, and Steve steps in. Your heart rips in half, image of the older you with a dead Steve Harrington’s hoodie on flickering behind your lids._

_You’ll save him. You’ll save all of them._

_You cross the floor to meet him, tears welling in your eyes._

_“I don’t have a lot of time to explain,” you said, cupping Steve Harrington’s face in your hands, struggling to see him past the tears pricking at the backs of your eyes. “None of this is going to make sense, and I don’t have long enough to make it.” You pressed your lips together. “You won’t remember, anyway, but-”_

Eleven pulls her hand away, and you double over, choking on the memory as it resurfaces in your mind, having been lurking in the depths for over a year.

She watches you curiously, and when you straighten, she gives you an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell you.”

Your eyes well with tears, and you shake your head, wrapping her in a hug. She stills, but hugs you back, gripping tighter after a moment.

“We did it,” you say softly. She pulls away, smiling.

“You did it.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you. Future you, or this you.” You touch her shoulder, smiling. “You saved the world, El. Now, it’s time to go be a teenager.” You gesture to the gymnasium, and her smile widens. “Go on.” She hesitates only a beat before jogging toward the steps, and just as she leaves,Steve’s door opens and he climbs out, a haunted look on his face.

He touches his head gently, frowning.

“What…what was what?” He asks.

“You…saw that?”

He nods, brows furrowed, and comes around the car to stand beside you.

“Did that….that really happened?”

“I didn’t know. I couldn’t remember.”

“Me neither,” Steve says, one side of his mouth quirking up. You snort, and turn, winding your arms around his neck. He smiles, hands on your waist, tugging you closer.

“You saved my life,” he says. “You saved all of our lives.”

“It wasn’t just me. El-”

“It was you. Accept the damn compliment,” he says, a lopsided smile on his lips. You roll your eyes, but sigh, nodding. The memory of the hoodie makes your chest ache, and your hands shift to Steve’s chest, fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt.

“If something happened to you-”

“It didn’t,” he says, hands sliding up to cup your cheeks. “Nothing happened. Thanks to you.”

You tilt your chin up, and he brushes his nose with yours gently before catching your mouth in his, lips parting against yours. It’s not a first kiss, and it’s not a last, and those two facts make it perfect, make it _everything_.

He kisses you slowly, softly, like he’s not worried about time, like he’s not worried about anything at all. You’re surprised to find that for the first time in longer than you can remember, you’re not worried, either.

The other you didn’t come back, and while that may not mean you succeeded forever, it means the timeline in which Steve and all the people you love have died no longer exists. It’s been erased, scrubbed from the world.

You don’t know what’s coming next, what the future looks like. You’re the same as everyone else, now: blind. But knowing what’s coming next takes all the fun out of it. To be alive is to not know what comes next. It’s to stumble forward without sight, and hope that there’s ground to step onto.

Steve pulls away, pressing a kiss to your temple before meeting your gaze, lips turned up slightly.

“So,” he says. “What comes after this?”

You smile, shaking your head. For once, you don’t have an answer for him, and it feels a hell of a lot like freedom, in a way you never anticipated. Sometimes, knowing is a burden, and sometimes, it’s okay to live without it.

Time will catch up, as it always does, and it will bring with it whatever it wants. None of you have the luxury of foresight.

“Honestly? I have no fucking clue,” you say, and Steve laughs. “As long as I’m with you, though, I think I’m okay.”

“Cheeseball,” Steve says, grinning and dropping a kiss to your nose. You smile, wrapping your arms around him again, burying your face in his chest. He holds you tightly, his face buried in your hair, his heart beating against yours. “But…me too.”

And so, every step beyond this moment is an unknown. The future is there, waiting for you, but this time, you have no clue what it is. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s better that way, to push forward until you can’t anymore, to gather up as much love as you can in the process.

Maybe that’s all that matters: the love you find before it all ends.


End file.
